


Sliding into Her DMs and Her Heart

by JZXR7



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A brief blindfolding and bondage scene, Aggressive twitter flirting, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assume that if men appear they will be morons and leave, Clueless Celebrities, Crack, Drunkenness, F/F, Focus seems to be on female friendships and not the romance oops, General self-esteem issues in many forms, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Horrible courtship, Humor, Nudes, Politics, Poor road safety, Rita is the fandom mom, Sabrina and Yennefer are the best frenemies, She will get better though, Smut, Social Media, There will be sex eventually I SWEAR, Tissaia is a very tired politician, Yennefer has some abandonment issues, Yennefer is a movie star and not handling the fame well, Yennefer might have a bit of an alcohol problem, drunk tweeting, sitting on someone's face, so like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 67,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23690035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JZXR7/pseuds/JZXR7
Summary: Yennefer makes questionable choices when drunk, but she stands by this one. Tissaia de Vries is the most attractive politician the district of Aretuza has ever elected, and everyone should know it.Tissaia isn't sure what to make of a spoiled celebrity announcing her uncontrollable attraction to Tissaia over twitter.However, the entire fandom and most of the world's reporters are waiting with bated breath to watch the seemingly inevitable train wreck.They're going to be disappointed. Yennefer's totally got this! She just needs to woo a woman whose reputation decides her employment prospects over social media without getting blocked first.
Relationships: Philippa Eilhart/Margarita Laux-Antille, Sabrina Glevissig/Triss Merigold, Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 270
Kudos: 715





	1. Cable News Causes Problems and No One Is Shocked

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back!!!
> 
> So. You may remember this from Tumblr. I wrote the beginning, posted, and then wrote a sixteen-page outline that I sent to a few friends. Yennefer maleficent Black was one of those poor would and may use my deranged ramblings to write her own thing and if she does you should read it because we have very different brains and so you'll get two stories for the price of one. And also because she's a genius.

Yennefer Vengerberg is a responsible fucking adult. So here she is, on a Wednesday night or morning or whatever, it used to be Wednesday but now it’s three am so she’s confused. But anyway. It might be Wednesday, and as a responsible fucking adult, she is watching the news. She is also very,  _ very  _ intoxicated.

Well, not intoxicated. She’s had two-okay, she’s had four-no, wait...She’s definitely had less than twelve shots of tequila, but beyond that, she doesn’t really feel good about her estimation abilities. Estimation. Huh. That’s a fun word! Well, she estimates that the news is all bad and also really boring, as tends to happen at three am when one is having difficulty understanding the queen’s English, or any other language for that matter. But that’s okay because she doesn’t need to understand what the fuck they’re saying. She knows that generally, the old man with the horrible beard who is yelling will be bad, and the hot brunette looking like she wants to murder him is probably one of the good guys. No one that hot could be evil. Probably. Actually, no, all the hot ones are evil, and her head feels like a bubble, not the fun floating kind children like but the ones that form when you’re drowning that split into dozens of smaller ones under the water pressure and she was going somewhere with this metaphor, but she’s not sure where anymore. The point was maybe that she feels like shit, and her hangover will be chronic but her ass is iconic, or something to that effect. She’s not sure, because the news is actually interesting right now, or at the least way more fun to watch because she’s a big bisexual mess and Hot Lady looks really good in her blazer and tie.

Hot Lady opens her mouth and announces to all who might be listening at three am on a Wednesday or whenever this was actually filmed because no one looks that good at three in the morning or that pissed off, that perhaps if the republicans did something Yennefer’s brain doesn’t understand right now related to healthcare, then something else about abortion, and then she looks whoever she’s talking to up and down and says that sending a man accused of child abuse to talk about abortion rights is the height of hypocrisy and that the man, who turns out to be named Stregobor and also a major fucking asshole, should be fired.

Yennefer kind of agrees. Drunk logic tends to suck, especially hers because the last time she got drunk she decided to vandalize Julian “call me Jaskier” Pancratz’s stupid fancy car and got arrested, but in her mind child abuse is bad and abortion rights and gorgeous women are good and that’s the end of it. The host looks kind of terrified, and Stregobor the asshole looks very terrified and also furious, and then the host is saying thank you to senators de Vries and Stregobor for coming in but they’ve run out of time because he’s a coward.

Senator de Vries is hot. He should have mentioned that and then had her host the news so Yennefer could keep looking at her stupidly pretty face. Like, this woman was carved from marble and then brought to life, and then apparently decided to fight the patriarchy in tailor-made suits. This is Yennefer’s dream woman, right here. 

Why didn’t the stupid host mention that, and also if she was single? The news is for talking about important shit, after all, and she is unsure how the nation isn’t putting aside their differences to talk about how hot Senator de Vries is. Ooh! She should tell them. After all, until ten seconds ago,  _ Yennefer _ didn’t know how hot Senator de Vries was! She has, like, a hundred million followers last time she checked. And she’ll be doing each and every one of them a service by pointing out this woman because  _ damn.  _ Triss had very patiently told her why drunk tweets are a bad PR move if she doesn’t want stupid magazines saying she’s a drunk and only being cast in movies for her tits, but this is political. Isn’t it trendy for movie stars to care about politics? It is! She is a genius, and Senator de Vries is gorgeous, and Triss will probably be asleep right now and also not care. So there. Now she just has to find her phone. Did she leave it in the car? She hopes not, because her car is red and the car she drove home is yellow, and wait that isn’t her car. Fuck. Okay, she’ll deal with that tomorrow, but first her phone and googling more pictures of the sexy senator. And maybe she should also ask Triss if asking someone out over twitter is a “bad PR move.” And then do it anyway if she says no.

Tissaia de Vries wakes up at five-thirty am to the shrill screech of her alarm, just like every morning. She immediately checks her phone before taking a shower, like she does every other morning.

Unlike every other morning, she has over twenty thousand twitter notifications and according to her accountant, her campaign fund received several million dollars over the course of the last two hours, and what fundraiser did she do at three am?

Tissaia was asleep at three am. Everyone she knows was asleep at three am! Who  _ didn’t  _ sleep at three am?

With no better ideas, she opens Twitter to see what the hell must have happened to get so many people involved in her campaign. She knows she’s been on the news a few times this week and her social media interns do good work, but this level of community engagement usually takes a disaster or a death. Oh, gods. If Stregobor died, she’s going to need to pretend to be sad. Please let that be it. If there is a god, let Stregobor have been shot by an angry mistress!

It is not anyone’s death, though it may end up a disaster. There, in black and white text, is a mention from one Yennefer Vengerberg, scandal magnet and darling of Hollywood. Apparently, it is “a fucking crime” that people are not aware of how attractive Tissaia is, and also that “Senator Stregobor can go choke on a dick.” While this message may be crude, poorly-spelled, and likely the result of liquor if the tabloids her employees like are anything to be believed, people see to be agreeing. A lot. And while there are many more tweets that seem to get less coherent as the chain progresses, Tissaia is more concerned with the fact that these people are visiting her campaign site and posting pictures of her that she didn’t even know existed. And, apparently, donating money to her campaign. Which is wonderful, of course, but leaves her in a rather unusual position. How does one  _ respond  _ when a celebrity drunk-tweets about how hot you are?

Triss Merigold is having possibly the worst morning of her entire life. She had told Yennefer “no more drunk tweets.” So what does Yennefer do? Post not one, not two, but  _ thirty-four  _ tweets about a) how attractive Tissaia de Vries is, b) how a great deal of Republican politicians can do a great deal of disgusting or violent things to themselves, or c) how much she’d like to bury her face in Tissaia’s cleavage and never come up for air again. 

So yes. Not a great morning. She’s mildly relieved when Senator de Vries replies to Yennefer with a polite thank you for the compliment and well wishes for dealing with her inevitable hangover, noting that she should also “try and get some sleep” since she decided to start her chain of twitter nonsense at three in the morning when Triss was unconscious and unable to stop her. Why didn’t she stay up and stop her?

Still. Tissaia’s response is good, sort of. She could be horrified or announce that Yennefer needed to be arrested or whatever older, classy women did when twenty-three-year-old movie stars tried to flirt with them over twitter. But really. What was she thinking? Was she thinking at all? Because now there’s a hashtag and a ship name and people are making edits of Yennefer kissing Tissaia in front of the white house and insinuating she should be the future First Lady, which is just...Such a bad idea. Should Triss be worried and maybe bring up rehab again, this time with more brochures? Actually, no. She loves Yennefer and is very concerned about her friend’s health, but at this moment Triss needs a drink, some coffee, and maybe someone to hug her and whisper soothing things like “You’re not going to get fired, Yennefer won’t blame you for her own bad choices probably” or “No one is getting arrested.” She can’t stage an intervention while being a massive hypocrite, so that means no drink. But coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. And no hugs, because she decided to be a strong independent woman and is therefore very single and also trapped at her office until her delightful, famous children who didn’t know they were her adopted children got their shit together.


	2. Everyone Everywhere Needs A Fucking Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tissaia is ready to fight the internet, Yennefer is ready to fight Vilgefortz, and Triss is ready to resign.

Tissaia is an extremely busy woman. It is November, meaning that it is election season, and the morons who could potentially and mercifully be voted out of the Senate this year are out in full force, attempting to blame failure after miserable failure on anyone other than themselves. Consequently, she is very, very tired, because while she won’t need to deal with this unholy shitshow for another few years, she’s getting quite sick of aging windbags who haven’t done anything but collect their salaries and vote on behalf whoever donates the most to their campaigns turning around and blaming her for everything from climate change to the fact that the president is a buffoon.

She’s not sure how, exactly, she is connected to either of these issues and would theorize that just maybe, someone’s PR rep saw that her name has been in the tabloids a fair bit and assumed she’d make a decent sacrificial lamb, a designation she does not accept nor appreciate. So yes. She’s been to three press conferences in the last two days, six meetings, and enough phone calls to require a new data plan. The great tweetstorm of Thursday morning has long since been forgotten.

It would appear that forgetting such a thing was a mistake. She is mature enough to admit when she was wrong, and in this case, she was very,  _ very  _ wrong. Attempting to forget about Yennefer Vengerberg’s appreciative but wildly obscene drunken rant was a mistake because literally no one else in the entire state seems willing to join her in doing so.

This is brought to her attention fully when Rita, her very kind but frequently intoxicated assistant, comes up to her wobbling in her impractically high-heeled shoes and asks if her unfortunate reply to Yennefer’s ramblings “ means you’re admitting to being, like, super into younger women on twitter.”

This was, of course, a very unexpected and downright concerning statement. So here they are, Tissaia curling into the leather of her office couch as if perhaps if she just presses hard enough, she can escape from the reality of the situation. The reality is that she really, really should have read the rest of Yennefer’s tweets before acknowledging them. Because while at first, they’re very complimentary, they seem to take a turn after about number twenty-five. It is at this point that Yennefer announces that “Tissaia de Vries could step on me in those stilettos she likes and I’d thank her. I want to see her in those and nothing else, actually.”

And she’s flattered. She is very, very flattered because Yennefer is a beautiful woman and she’s not in any way opposed to  _ the  _ Yennefer Vengerberg finding her attractive. In fact, if they’d met at a party or something instead of Yennefer declaring her intentions to half the civilized world, she might be enjoying this. But that’s not what happened, and now half the nation is paying way too much attention to her shoes all of a sudden, and she’s blushing in front of Rita, which is never a good idea. Ever.

“So. Are you going to call her? Because this is hot. Like, if the whole movie thing doesn't work out she could write porn.”

“Thank you for that, Rita.”

“Tissaia de Vries will have a place to sit as long as I have a face. Also, pretty sure I’m jealous of furniture now. Stay tuned!” Rita is having way too much fun with this. She’s draped herself over Tissaia’s coffee table like a very drunk, somewhat manic jazz singer in a nightclub, and while her impression of Yennefer’s voice is rather good, Tissaia does  _ not  _ need these thoughts right now. Or ever, just to be clear.

“She did not say that.” Please let her not have said that. Because otherwise, becoming one with the office furniture Yennefer apparently envies is on the top of her to-do list, right up there with calling every public relations firm she knows. This is bad. This is “leaked sex tape” levels of bad. Why did Yennefer not have some sort of babysitter when she drank? Every politician’s offspring that she knows has some sort of social media guardian whenever they decide to go to Florida on spring break and destroy both their livers and reputations. How on earth did the world’s least responsible celebrity not have one?

“Oh, she said it. Hey, did you know that she thinks you should be president so you’re on TV more often?” Well. That was, at the very least, appropriate for children and didn’t have anything to do with lesbian sex. Because that is apparently her life now, dealing with sex scandals when she hadn’t slept with anyone for that exact reason for over a goddamn year.

If she had read this all the way through, her tweet to Yennefer might have mentioned rehab. Or at least, she’d have been tempted. Clearly, the girl needs to go. Again. And then possibly take some lessons on how to type coherently while intoxicated, a skill Tissaia was forced to learn very early in her career when she discovered idiotic men are far more likely to support education bills after a few drinks. 

Perhaps she’s being unfair. This woman is barely old enough to be out of college and has millions of people obsessed with everything from what coffee she drinks to her skincare regime. It must be stressful. But that is no excuse to drag Tissaia into it because she has enough stress trying to prevent the country from flying off the rails even faster than it was already trying to. She’s very tired and she does  _ not  _ have time for this!

“Rita. Get off my table.”

Rita does get off the table. However, she collapses dramatically over Tissaia’s legs to throw her feet up in Tissaia’s lap immediately afterward, so she doesn’t feel like that’s a victory. “Don’t you want to know about how you’re a sex symbol now?”

“No!” Maybe? She will admit this is the first time in a while people have been talking about her looks without the words “frigid bitch” being used. And she is only human, so the compliments are indeed enjoyable. She just wishes they didn’t involve so many lurid fantasies about her hands or desk or anything else that Yennefer had talked about. Rita was, however, right about the quality of the...suggestions. Yennefer may be a horrible typist, but some of her ideas...Damn.

“Right, well you’re a sex symbol now. Like, I think you have a lesbian cult. Can I join your lesbian cult? I’m your best friend, I think I should be the cult president.” What?  _ What? _

“Please stop talking. Cancel my two pm call, tell the press on the lawn that I’m not wasting taxpayer dollars to talk about my nonexistent love life, and if Stregobor calls again-”

“-Tell him you’re dead?”

“Thank you.” She leans back into the couch, groping blindly for the drink she’d left somewhere. But looking for it would involve opening her eyes, and she doesn’t want to do that right now. Her head hurts, and there are reporters outside her window that she’s never seen in her life because politics isn’t usually interesting to Star magazine, but with Yennefer’s little publicity boost she suddenly makes the cut. 

She wants to be angry. Scratch that, she wants to be furious because this is very inconvenient. It’s just also very, very profitable. The donations are still rolling in, and her campaign website crashed from too many people looking at it, and her new reform bill for public school funding is going semi-viral, which for something as boring as a massive legal document about budgets is insane. So no, she’s not mad. But maybe she deserves a nap.

Yennefer was having a fantastic time. Tissaia tweeted her back, and then everyone started talking about how they’d make a great couple, but then Triss called.

Triss thinks Yennefer should stop using social media. And also that she needs an intervention. There was a lot of “I’m worried about you, are you okay” going on. She does not need that in her life. She needs the hot senator in her life, maybe, and definitely a comfier chair because the bar she’s in is spinning and the stupid thing keeps wobbling as she sways. Is that a service she can hire? Not a PR consultant, but like, someone to mail Tissaia to her house? That’s kidnapping, probably, and she’d probably get super arrested, but it would be worth it. 

“Think Triss’d be mad if I climbed through Tissaia’s window?” 

Sabrina looks at her like she is the dumbest person since Senator Stregobor, which is offensive because Sabrina has actually done that. Climbed through some producer’s window, that is. And then got arrested for it because she punched him. Fuck that guy. “Why would that matter?”

Duh. Because Triss is an adorable human/marshmallow hybrid and when she frowns, kittens get hit by semi-trucks or something? “You should meet her. You’ll get it then.”

Sabrina slams another shot and leans against the bar. “That cute, huh? Is she single or easily corrupted?” 

“...Not sure. Find out, though. You can be my ‘I’m sorry working for me sucks’ present.” Giving humans as gifts is illegal, but it’s fine because Sabrina is an asshole, even if she can be fun to drink with and also doesn’t give enough of a shit about anything besides shopping and being a dick to try to ruin Yennefer’s career. So here they are, in some random bar that is darker than the Marianna trench with horrible civilian disguises that mostly consist of massive sunglasses, drinking shitty alcohol and apparently fucking with Triss’s love life now. That’s a bad plan. Triss is too nice for that. “Nevermind, actually. You suck, and she’s, like, the angel that invented puppies, so you don’t get to meet her.”

“Do I get to meet her if I tell you about how someone’s trying to steal your girl?”

“Huh?” Yennefer doesn’t have a girl. She wants one, obviously, she sort of started a massive twitter mess about that and it’s still trending, but what?

Sabrina passes over her cell phone and Yennefer resists the urge to dunk it in the guy next to her’s beer because that is the level of stupid that she and Sabrina bring out in each other. On the screen is twitter, because it seems like everything gets funneled through that site nowadays. Her vision is kind of fuzzy because she managed to avoid any and all parties for three whole days in an attempt to not give Triss another stress meltdown, and then Sabrina broke into her apartment because she was bored on a Saturday night, so maybe she went a little bit overboard on the booze and can’t read properly. Sue her. 

“Let’s see. Something, something else, smudge, bad profile picture…” What she wants to say is “You’re clearly somewhat sober, please just help me,” but she’d probably rather die than ask Sabrina for help, no matter how stupid the problem. So here they are. The counter is sticky on her elbows and the bar is way too loud and it’s making the words move. It’s possible that it's just caused by her hands shaking but she’s not sure, and she’s getting very frustrated. When she gets frustrated, sometimes things get stolen or set on fire or punched. It’s not a good cycle.

“Just give it.” Sabrina snatches the phone back, and Yennefer sighs in relief. Nothing quite like saving face between not-friends. “Let’s play a game. I’ll read it, and you try to guess who sent it.” In Sabrina language, that means “This is going to make you angry and I’m not going to tell you who to insult on twitter because fuck you, that’s why.” Or something to that effect. Yennefer would do the same to her. 

Sabrina straightens her back, jutting out her chest in what is meant to be an imitation of someone, but since half the men of Hollywood act like that she’s not got much to go on. “If Tissaia de Vries ever wants a real man, I’d love to fly her out to LA,” Sabrina husks, voice an overly-deep parody of sensuality that is probably meant to mock the meathead who thought that would be an alluring offer but mostly it just reminds Yennefer that there are other people who want to get Tissaia’s attention. Like, so many. She gets that she’s fabulous and people tend to copy everything she does, but it seems like every barely-relevant moron in the music or TV industry has decided that thirst-tweeting politicians is a hot new trend, and because there aren’t many sexy politicians out there, Tissaia has been getting a lot of attention. But she only replied to Yennefer so far. So there.

“Who the fuck sent  _ that _ ?” Even though she’s kind of pissed, she’s still laughing. And so is Sabrina. Not laughing together the way she does with Triss, but laughing at the same idiot at the same time in a way that is entirely coincidental. 

“Vilgefortz did. I think he’s drunk too. The spelling is almost as bad as yours.” God, that fucking asshole. He may be everyone’s favorite leading man right now, so much so that her agent keeps trying to pressure her to shoot something with him, but Yennefer would rather have to kiss Jaskier on camera again. At least he isn’t a condescending prick, just really, really flamboyant and loud.

“I’m way hotter than him.”

Sabrina looks her up and down and scoffs. “Maybe when you’re sober. But like, is she even gay?”

Well. That was a question for google. Yennefer will admit that in her early morning ramblings she did not think of that little hole in her twenty-step plan to get Tissaia to date her.

“Fine. But if she isn’t, she still shouldn’t date  _ that _ .” The very thought of Vilgefortz, with his horrible mustache and stupidly handsome face getting to kiss Tissaia maybe makes her want to strangle him a tiny bit. But Triss had been really, really upset on the phone with Yennefer about the whole drunk-tweeting thing, and also she’s not sure she could even read the keyboard at this point, so she solemnly swears to only reply when she’s sober. Or, closer to it, anyway. If she doesn’t pass out first.

Tissaia is still up at midnight only because she’s gotten a bit behind while handling what she’s dubbed the Yennefer Incident, which is why she made the executive decision to ignore the fact that it was a weekend and do work on Saturday night because she has no life. Now, it feels like the unread emails in her inbox are spawning far faster than she can reply to them. Not that it matters, because the house is dead silent and no one is going to care whether she ends up in bed at a decent hour or not, the side benefit of having the dating life of a leper. 

When Rita texts her, her ringtone makes her jump. It’s a jarring thing that makes her hair stand on end, the harsh reminder that even now in her own home, the responsibilities she chose to take on are utterly inescapable.

To her intense concern, it’s not about any kind of meeting or phone call or member of the party throwing a tantrum because she disagreed with them in public. The text just says “check twitter” with nine exclamation points and some emojis that she thinks are drooling, maybe. Rita is far too fond of the things.

She does indeed cave to her inability to ignore her curiosity and opens the app that has become the bane of her existence. That stupid bluebird feels like it’s mocking her, and then she’s informed that she has another round of people tagging her in things and thousands upon thousands of notifications.

This isn’t new anymore, because lots of people have been tagging her in things, but the last time the reaction was this big was when Yennefer did it, and she can’t help the little thrum of excitement deep in her chest at the thought of the other woman contacting her again. She wants to crush that part of her with a hammer, though that is not a possibility. 

It is not Yennefer, and she  _ refuses  _ to be disappointed. She’s not! Really! Her followers, the amount of which is several thousand higher than it used to be before Wednesday and is now rapidly climbing, have started tagging her in photos of some man. Lots of them. He’s handsome, in a very masculine sort of way that she’s utterly uninterested in, with a rather unfortunate mustache, though she sees why Rita was intrigued. Tissaia is confused as to why so many people decided to flood her with content involving this person in perfect unison until she scrolls all the way up and discovers a tweet from the man himself, who must be famous or something, but Tissaia couldn’t say from what. Maybe sports? She’ll admit she knows next to nothing about men’s sports.

The fact that he thinks she wants any sort of man, real or fake, is hysterical. She’s not even going to dignify this with a response, really, because the only place she wants this egotistical prat flying her is to Yennefer’s house-No. No, she does not want that. She is not thinking about that!

She’s going to bed. She is going to close twitter, stretch out the ache in her spine that comes from hunching over her computer for hours, and then she’s going to go to bed without responding to this idiocy because no matter how disparagingly she does, it will likely spawn more hashtags and she does  _ not  _ want those.

Margarita Laux-Antille does not go to bed, not even after Tissaia doesn’t reply to her texts because she’s probably busy having a massive breakdown or cursing Vilgefortz’s entire bloodline for daring to insinuate she’d want to fuck a man. Well, she may be utterly uninterested, but Rita is having a great time watching the dumpster fire that is fandom Twitter respond to Tissaia deliberately ignoring a man most of them consider the hottest thing ever. Seriously. The amount of times people have called him daddy is making her want to barf a little, and she’s absolutely going to make a compilation of the worst tweets for Tissaia to read later. Because the thing is, gay twitter got way too interested in the idea of Yennefer wanting to bang Tissaia, and oh gods Rita is saving so much of the incorrect quotes and art to wave around whenever the stick travels too far up Tissaia’s ass, but this? Gross. She does not want to read three thousand words about her boss and a random man. Well, she might want to if it weren’t so poorly written. 

Heterosexual twitter has seized onto their god’s declaration of sexual interest with both hands, and it’s starting the feud to end all feuds with Yennefer’s supporters. They’ve gotten it into their heads that because Tissaia is ignoring the sheer stupid she’s been tagged in, that must be an official rejection of Vilgefortz’s advances, and go twitter for actually getting something right. But that’s where everything goes off the rails on the crazy train and Rita starts emailing people to make sure Tissaia won’t be bothered tomorrow morning after seeing this shit. 

The most popular theory by far is that Tissaia is secretly gay. Which is hilarious, because Tissaia is about as straight as Rita is, which is to say not at all, but it’s not a secret. Her boss just is keeping it in her pants like a boring old woman, which is actually great because a lot of her rejected suitors are hot and while Tissaia isn’t available, Rita definitely is and has no issues with a few scandalous relationships with the rich and powerful just for the fun of it.

Theory number two is so dumb it hurts Rita’s brain. Like, more than her hangover already was, which takes an appalling amount of stupid. Theory two insists that Tissaia is just playing hard to get and making Vilgefortz work for it, which is hilarious because most girls she knows would give their right arm to fuck this dude. Tissaia is just a massive lesbian.

Rita loves the third idea so fucking much because she knows it’s going to send Tissaia into a massive, hilarious tailspin. And as her best friend, Rita will comfort her through it, but she’ll have her contractual ten seconds of fun laughing about it first. Someone, somewhere, got it into their head that perhaps the reason Tissaia has been so quiet on twitter is that she and Yennefer are cuddled up in one of their homes, having lots and lots of kinky lesbian sex and are unwilling to take a break for long enough to check their phones. Theory three has a truly inspiring amount of support, and it takes all of Rita’s questionable willpower and ethics not to confirm it. Just for fun. Only for like an hour! But yeah. Tissaia is not going to be happy when she sees this.

The reason Rita is still employed, even with the two loves of her life being alcohol and sex with people she technically shouldn’t have sex with, is because she is very good at predicting Tissaia’s moods before she enters the office and then preparing for them. So, at midnight on a fucking Saturday or maybe Sunday now, she starts prepping for the bullshit that is Tissaia’s “I don’t take weekends off but please, you should, why are you still here? Well, I guess if you’re staying please do these 495 things” routine. Can she get the tech guys, if they’re still working, to just block twitter in their entire goddamned building? Because when Tissaia sees that she's trending in at least five different hashtags, she's going to flip her shit.


	3. Alcohol and Assault: The Best Kind of Girl's Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yennefer is sober, Tissaia is tired, and Sabrina is maybe having human emotions.

Yennefer would like to submit the theory that award shows were created by Satan to whoever might be in charge of proving such a thing. Because here she is, sober, in the most uncomfortable dress she’s ever worn, and two rows of seats away from Vilgefortz himself. They’ve also seated her next to Sabrina, just to add insult to injury.

The sound of forced laughter echoes through the poorly-lit auditorium as Hollywood’s elite try to pretend they don’t all hate each other. After all, there’s roughly one camera for every person here, and ending up that one cursed person making a silly face that gets played and replayed on all the entertainment blogs for the next two weeks just won’t do. This seat is too small for any normal-sized human being who would like to be able to use the plastic armrests, much less a woman in a ballgown because her skirt is less than practical and this really just sucks. She’s sure the stage is lovely or something because the filmmaker's brotherhood would never host the Continental Awards anywhere that wasn’t incredibly historic and also probably with an asbestos problem, but they’ve also decided that turning the lights all the way down so that she can barely see anything but the way Vilgefortz’s overly-oiled hair reflects the fluorescents is a good idea. Huh. Maybe he’s going bald and is trying to hide it? That would make her day. She hasn’t forgiven him for flirting with  _ her  _ hot senator, though it’s been almost a full week with no response to his little proposal and the fans are certainly losing their shit about it. Hah. Tissaia likes her the best still.

She’s almost bored enough to try to talk to Sabrina, which would be a bad idea because if they disagree on anything, which happens often, every tabloid with a camera in this shithole will be screaming “catfight” within ten seconds. Plus, given last Saturday’s little excursion, she’s really used up her quota of friendly interaction with Sabrina for the next year. 

Just as she’s wondering if maybe, just maybe, Sabrina brought a flask and could somehow pass it to her without being noticed, the stage lights go on to center on some generic white guy who probably hosts a late-night show and whose name Yennefer remains blissfully unaware of. They seem to find one of those clowns for every conceivable award show on the continent.

Unlike most award shows, the drama gets started before the first nomination is even read, and at this point, she thinks she made a mistake in her initial assessment. There’s no way this dingbat has a TV show. Given his exceptionally rude string of what she thinks are meant to be jokes about the sheer amount of low-cut dresses present, which yes, this is a formal event so excuse the entire female portion of the room for dressing up, he decides to move on to politics.

Normally, this would just be boring and uncomfortable. But tonight, the gods seem intent on making Yennefer’s evening suck as much as possible.

“-And of course, we cannot talk about the Democratic party without mentioning Tissaia de Vries.” Yennefer’s grip on the armrests tightens. If this joker tries to slam Tissaia she can and will get out of her chair and smack him. The rest of the audience laughs for the first time in the entire opening act, and the asshole comedian someone was idiotic enough to hire puffs up like a balloon. Yennefer yearns for the cold steel of a harpoon gun to help him deflate a bit. “Ah yes, the Aretuzan senator that has everyone’s pants aflame. Her tax plan would screw everyone in the room, and yet you’re all in her DM’s anyway. Kind of a simp move, guys.”

Yennefer doesn’t know much about taxes except for the fact that she’s hired someone to make sure hers get paid. She does know, however, that if Tissaia thinks that everyone here should pay more of them, then maybe some of her suitors will fuck off, and good riddance. Maybe if Yennefer offers to pay more taxes Tissaia will be happy? That’s probably not how taxes even work, but whatever.

“I mean, if she wants our money so much, she ought to make an onlyfans. I think we’d all vote yes on that, am I right fellas?” The male portion of the room hoots loudly and Yennefer feels the familiar Call Of The Stupid sounding in the back of her brain louder than a foghorn. She presses herself back into her seat and counts backward from ten like her court-mandated anger management therapist taught her. It doesn’t help, because she’s not three and counting to ten backward isn’t a great distraction from the fact that she is trapped listening to a sexist creep. Sabrina catches her eye in the universal expression for “girl, I don’t like you, but if you go at him I will back you up.” And that’s enough to convince her to maybe listen to the angry little anarchist in the back of her head who likes to convince her to curse out authority figures and handcuff her costars to props just for a laugh.

The awards for best actress in a TV show come towards the middle of the program, and by then the host from hell has made enough jokes that she’s seeing red. It’s a relief when the goddam statue thingy she’s been forced to sit through this bullshit for is awarded to her. It means that she can gracefully exit her seat and make it into the aisle without security clocking on to the fact that award winners usually smile, and that the snarl on her face means very bad things for the man now handing her what looks very much like a shiny golden police baton and would probably hurt just as much if Yennefer surrendered to the urge to wield it like a club and smack her new nemesis in the face.

Yennefer knows that she’s going down in history tonight. Not for setting any kind of record for the number of awards received before age twenty-five or for the content of her speech, but as the first person, ever, to get thrown out of an award show. The question is how she’s going to do it. Deep down, she favors using her trophy as an improvised weapon. Dear gods, she wants to, even if it will get her arrested for assault. Time for more counting.

_ 10\. 9. 8. 7. This is stupid. 6. 5. Pretend to smile, dumbass. 4. 3. 2. 1. _

She takes the statue, squeezes the host’s hand as hard as possible when shaking it, and is pointed towards the podium to make her acceptance speech, which she knows is already printed out for her because gods forbid she goes off-script and tell the world about the affair between her male lead and the director like last time. 

She has a very malicious smile on her face as she approaches the podium and ignores her speech, and that is everyone’s first indication that  _ something  _ is about to go down because Yennefer has done this enough times to know the protocol well enough that she could and has done it while black-out drunk. 

“While I’d like to thank the brotherhood, I think they should be thanking all of us for sitting through this idiot without beating him to death in an inspiring display of solidarity.” The host grimaces, but the laughter coming from the female half of the room is very genuine for the first time this entire evening. “On that note, here are some other people I don’t think I’m going to thank. I am not thanking Jaskier, my co-star whom you all thought I was dating because the producers thought that would be an excellent publicity stunt because he’s an absolute waste of oxygen and I lost brain cells every time he spoke. I am not going to thank my family because if you all recall, they are disgusting excuses for human beings. Unfortunately, I think that runs through the traditional award speech content, which means I’m just going to have to get creative here.” This is the second indication that something is very, very wrong because Yennefer’s creativity tends to involve copious amounts of arson and property damage. She has some rage issues from her shitty childhood and this means she has an excuse. Or something to that effect. She thinks her therapist said that at some point. “So, before they decide to have security escort me out, I’d like to make sure that this incredibly dull event has some entertainment value before making a suitably dramatic exit.” 

People are, at this point, looking very nervous. Sabrina, however, is looking almost proud of her, and she can see her cell phone going off in her seat with Triss’s face on the screen. Hopefully, Sabrina will be a dear and grab that for her. It’s almost guaranteed, seeing as she’s already eyeing the contact photo with obvious interest. The “Please stop talking, you’re being controversial” music starts to play, and while it’s not her first choice for a theme song, she’ll take it. So with great pride and obvious enjoyment, Yennefer takes her tacky statue in her left hand and marches toward the center of the stage, where tall, scruffy, and bland is waiting to offer his hand and escort her off. 

Yennefer takes it with a grin that reaches far too high on her face to be entirely sane and yanks him forward with surprising strength for her shorter frame, leaning in so that the microphone on his collar is within range of her mouth. “I was going to tell you to make an onlyfans, since this whole being funny thing just isn’t working for you, but I don’t think there’s enough down there to be interesting.” His mic picks this up and relays it to the massive speakers behind them because that was Yennefer’s entire reason for getting so close to this creep, and then people are snickering and Yennefer can feel the adrenaline that always comes from behaving badly in public. She’d missed it so much. So maybe she’s going to owe Triss a massive apology gift, but for now, she’s having a marvelous time.

While it would be wise to just leave it here, where she’s still the good guy in the public eye, Yennefer has never been very good at leaving anything alone, ever. And so instead she raises the hand that isn’t holding one of the most coveted awards for her profession and slaps the host in the face. Because she can, and because he deserved it, and because she knows that the brotherhood will want to limit the time this is in the press and thus will stop him from suing her.

The stage manager in the wings stares at her in horror. And then Sabrina rises to her feet and begins to clap in a way that is probably meant to communicate both “oh babe you just fucked up” and also “thank you for doing that before I had to,” a one-woman standing ovation as the very large security guards plaster themselves to her sides and indicate that she ought to leave the stage immediately.

Sabrina is joined by Kiera Metz, who is probably drunk, and her boyfriend, who probably doesn’t want to be sleeping on the couch, and the next thing Yennefer knows a large coalition of angry people who did not approve of the night’s entertainment are cheering for her newest media scandal. She takes a very dramatic bow in the center of the stage, high off applause, and raises the statue above her head as a sort of victory salute. She is absolutely going to be banned from the Continentals for life, and it will absolutely be worth it for this one shining moment of perfect chaos.

The Continental Awards are, in Tissaia’s opinion, a very large waste of time and money dedicated to stroking the egos of some spoiled millionaires who don’t need it. This argument falls on deaf ears, however, because it is now day six of The Great Office Seige that started once two idiotic celebrities decided to let their fanbases fight over her. The press have been camped outside ever since, she’s had to mute her notifications, and people have been calling the office to ask about her sexuality. Both she and Rita are losing their minds, so if Rita is insisting on watching her show on her computer, Tissaia won’t object. Her habit of making Tissaia look over whenever anything particularly interesting happens is less than ideal, but the volume is all the way up, meaning even when nothing interesting whatsoever is happening, Tissaia is painfully aware of it anyway. She may as well cooperate.

When the very boring-looking man in charge of reading all the names mentions her, Rita will not shut up until Tissaia gets up to lean over her desk chair to glance at the moronic little toad over Rita’s blonde curls and resist the urge to argue with someone who can’t hear her.

“Rita. What on earth is an onlyfans? Would that be a good idea-”

“No! Well. Not for you, because you’re a prude, but for other people, yes.” That does not answer her original question of what on earth this “onlyfans” thing might be. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not going to make you go on urban dictionary again. The dumbass you’re glaring at wants you to post nudes for money. And if I don’t get to see those, neither does he.”

“I’m sure plenty of people are already sending you nudes, dear.” And Tissaia does not  _ have  _ any nudes, thank you very much. Even if she did she wouldn’t  _ post them _ . She’s somewhat horrified that the audience seems to appreciate this idea, especially when she recognizes a few of them from her recent misfortunes involving twitter. Well. She no longer feels remotely guilty for ignoring them all!

She does try to get back to work, albeit distractedly when Rita asks her if she’d like to see her girlfriend. It says something about just how many “Yennefer de Vries” jokes Rita has made in the last week that she doesn’t even object to Yennefer’s new title and hauls herself out of her chair once more before Rita decides to do it for her.

Yennefer looks absolutely stunning as she takes the stage. Her dress is effectively a corset of black lace, flaring out around her hips to trail behind her like some sort of cape, and Tissaia forgets her objections to watching this program as Yennefer winks at the camera. She may be quite irritated with Yennefer’s fans for their many, many thoughts on Tissaia’s dating life, but she can’t feel anything but awe towards Yennefer herself. And then Yennefer begins to speak, and Rita is squealing because “Holy balls, Tissaia, you don’t just  _ say that  _ during a speech!” 

Tissaia is well aware. She makes speeches for a living, and acceptance speeches tend to follow a fairly standard template. What Yennefer is now doing would get Tissaia fired, and she wishes she had some popcorn because Yennefer  _ won’t  _ get fired, her career clearly thrives on scandal, and this is possibly the most brilliant publicity stunt Tissaia has ever seen.

Yennefer slaps the host after throwing his own words in his face, and Tissaia will admit that maybe, possibly, she’s a bit aroused. Because Yennefer is a goddess made flesh and is now defending her reputation on one of the more public stages the world has to offer, and her emotions are unfortunately not on the same page as her brain. It happened occasionally to everyone.

“Oh, my gods.” Tissaia has to agree. That was truly a show if nothing else. Though the press and the hashtags and dating rumors will only get worse now, won’t they? “Tissaia. Marry her. Make me your maid of honor and marry her  _ right now. _ ”

“She wants me to step on her, as I recall, not marry her.” And wouldn’t that be a pretty picture, Yennefer at her feet? Not that she will admit to thinking about it, not even upon pain of death, but still. She’s allowed to have idle fantasies about a beautiful woman who seems interested in her!

“Okay. Do that, then. And then propose when you’re done screwing her brains out so she’s more likely to say yes.” If Rita worked for anyone else, she would be very fired. If Rita worked for anyone else, she’d spend more time getting yelled at by human resources than actually working. But if Tissaia had hired anyone else, she’d be all alone in this office living on delivery and vending machine snacks because she can’t figure out how to leave the building. So Rita will say whatever enters her ridiculous, blonde, overly-wine-drunk skull, and Tissaia will pretend she isn’t amused. It’s a dynamic that they both respect but never have spoken about. “You should check twitter, too. Maybe she decided to ask if you saw her defending your honor,” Rita sighs dreamily like Yennefer is her knight in shining armor rather than a menace of a human being who just happens to be pretty enough to get away with her numerous transgressions. 

“No.” Tissaia drops onto the office couch, deliberately placing her phone on the coffee table to strengthen her insistence that she’s not using it to check anything.

“I’ll do it for you, then. Gotta stay informed!” 

“Is that why we have so many tabloids in this office?” She also ought to mention Rita’s hatred of the newspapers Tissaia brings into the building, going so far as to make origami for her desk and obnoxious paper hats for visiting children out of them rather than read a word. Tissaia has saved one or two of the more artistic newsprint cranes, but she still thinks it’s a silly habit. 

“Tissaia? On a scale of one to ten, how likely are you to have an old-lady heart attack right now?”

“Don’t even think about it.” She does not want to know. She really doesn’t, though her urge to hoard information like the dragon lady she’s been accused of being is strong.

“If Tissaia de Vries decides she wants a bit of a lifestyle subsidy, she should forget onlyfans or socialism and start calling me daddy.” She definitely heard that wrong. And if she didn’t, she’s castrating whoever wrote it. “Oh look, he even tagged you. I know you don’t want him because he is kind of acting like a creep, but will you be mad if I-”

“You have more self-respect than that.”

“Do I?” Tissaia sighs. The answer is “probably not,” because Rita’s past relationships are somewhat horrifying from an ethics standpoint and Tissaia wouldn’t be surprised if Rita married rich one day, only for her husband to die of mysterious circumstances a month later, but as the woman’s friend and frequent provider for bail money she feels the need to protect her favorite disaster from herself.

“Pick someone else. Anyone else.” 

“How about Yennefer? She replied to your new daddy.”

Tissaia tries very hard to look disinterested. She knows she’s failing, but Rita, bless her overly-soft heart, doesn’t say anything about it. “One: never call him that again. Two: how bad is it going to get out there?”

“Fuck being his sugar baby, be my wife instead. I can have a ring by tomorrow xoxo.” Rita has a disturbingly large smile on her face. “I told you! Please say yes.”

She’s so screwed. If the press were bad before, romantic propositions from two of the most famous people on the continent at the same time was going to make it infinitely worse. She needs to stop this right now!

“...Pass me my phone.” Rita all but hurls it at her in her eagerness. She’s practically bouncing in her seat.

“You’re going to say yes?”

Tissaia throws her head back, laughing hard. That wasn’t the thought, no. “While the attention now being paid to my policy suggestions is wonderful, I have no desire to date a childish millionaire whose major resume item is being attractive. You may all calm down now.” 

“You did  _ not  _ post that! Tissaia, that is way too harsh!” Rita wrests the phone from her hands and stares in horror at the growing number of retweets and likes. “You tagged  _ both  _ of them?”

“The entire press corps is camped out in my  _ yard _ , Rita. I am supposedly a boring politician, I am not dating a celebrity, and there is still press in my yard. They both need to go, for my sanity if nothing else.” She takes the phone back, ignoring the slight guilt of potentially hurting Yennefer’s feelings. She had, after all, been very impressive tonight. She doesn’t care if she hurts Vilgefortz.

“You realize they’re going to tweet back, right? The press isn’t going to go away, babe. You just started a war with two movie stars.”

“...What?”

Rita places a gentle hand on her shoulder and looks deep into her eyes with the worst sympathetic expression Tissaia has ever seen on her sunny face. “Honey. Do you really think either of them is going to take a flat out rejection, and a really rude one, without trying to salvage their egos? They’re going to reply, and it’s going to be bad, so we probably should just be prepared to stay here tonight if you’re so scared of the big, bad reporters. We can have a sleepover!”

“Rita, focus.” Tissaia is having a hard time focusing. This is bad. This is  _ bad.  _ Why hadn’t she had someone a bit more knowledgeable about social media handle this instead of defaulting to insulting the people making her angry and uncomfortable?

“Right. So, do you wanna wait to see what they do, or do you want to go home and drink your feelings? I’m equipped for both!” Rita pulls a bottle of wine out of the drawer in her desk, and Tissaia could go on for hours about how that’s against employee policy, but right now she doesn’t have the energy.

“Update me when the idiots spout off again, then.” Well, the idiot and the very adorable menace who is just an unfortunate casualty of Tissaia’s career. For now, they have wine.

“Oh, they already have.” Tissaia blanches. That was fast. 

“How bad, dear?”

“Tissaia de Vries needs a reality check on taking a good offer when she gets it or she’s going to end up dying alone.” Rita is still smiling, so maybe that will get rid of some of the press? “Oh wow. Vilgefortz is summoning the incel army, here. Wanna hear what Yennefer has to say?”

“Well, we’re here. We might as well.” Something rude, no doubt. She’d seen the girl’s skill at insulting those who’d annoyed her first-hand tonight, after all.

“The only way Tissaia de Vries dies alone is if all the sapphic girls die first. Cause I’m pretty sure we’d all worship her like the goddess she is for all eternity.” Rita starts the tweet normally, but by the end, she’s wriggling in her seat and her voice is an excited squeal. “Please don’t say anything else mean to her. Like, sass Vilgefortz all you want, but come  _ on. _ ” 

“Fine. For your sake, I’ll ignore her for now.” Internally, Tissaia is delighted to have an excuse to let Yennefer continue her online rampage unchecked. Not that she wants to encourage it. She’s just tired. Tired, and about to drink a potentially questionable amount of wine with her best friend turned secretary, so she’s done on twitter for today.

  
  


This is the worst after-party ever. This could potentially be because this is not the official Continentals afterparty, which she is probably also banned from, but Triss’s house. And it’s not a party so much as that Yennefer went to get her phone back from Sabrina in the parking lot, only to find Sabrina talking on the phone. Her phone. Using her phone to talk to Triss about how much of an idiot Yennefer was, then promptly beginning to yell at her for upsetting “a human ray of sunshine,” which okay, yeah, she deserves. And then Triss had said that they needed to “make a plan,” and Sabrina had offered to drive Yennefer to Triss’s apartment because Yennefer didn’t bring a car and the next thing she knew she was sitting in an overstuffed armchair, surrounded by plates of Triss’s amazing stress baking while Sabrina sat next to Triss on the couch and tried to find as many ways as possible to tell her she was pretty. It’s kind of sickening, and Yennefer will mock her for it incessantly once they leave, but for now, Triss is less upset than she was before so Yennefer considers this a victory.

“Why did you have to  _ slap _ him?” 

“Because he deserved to be slapped?” He did! Not even from an “I don’t think people should be rude to Tissaia de Vries” standpoint, but for reasons of basic human decency and taste.

Triss looks at her like she’s absolutely nuts, which might indeed be the case, and then proceeds to throw her hands up in the air and let Sabrina coax her into sitting back down and eating more cookies. Which are fabulous, and Triss should open a bakery. Like, today. Yennefer will fund it!

“Yennefer, bless her heart, has the brains of the magpies her wardrobe resembles. And we all act like morons when we’re in love, isn’t that right, Yen?” Yennefer scowls but neglects to argue because Triss is a hopeless romantic and might actually forgive her if she slapped someone for love. She slapped him because she was utterly enraged, but she was enraged because he was acting like a creep towards her crush, so it’s close enough.

“You wouldn’t know.” She doesn’t think Sabrina has fallen for anyone, ever, because if she has a heart it’s been fossilized by now.

Sabrina rolls her eyes and drops her head onto Triss’s shoulder like a cat demanding affection and Yennefer does her very best to sort out the conflicting instincts fighting for her attention with this new development. Option one is to protect Triss from Sabrina, whom she knows to be a revolting cow on the best of days. Option two is to encourage Sabrina’s very helpful distraction because Triss seems way less angry and sad right now. In fact, she’s staring down at Sabrina like she hung the fucking stars with a light blush on her freckled cheeks, and she loves that Triss has a crush she can tease her about, but also why  _ Sabrina _ ? 

“You realize the press will be all over this, right? It’s not like I can try to hide the video, it went out on live television!” Yeah, and she stands by her actions.

“I slapped a sexist creep. Who is that gonna piss off who didn’t already hate me?”

Triss starts some sort of rant about metrics and film critics and public image for future projects that Yennefer has heard a hundred times. She does tune out a bit, because Triss is amazing and no matter what she does, Yennefer never really suffers for it because Triss always manages to fix it, and also Triss may be talking to her but she keeps stealing glances at Sabrina in a way that isn’t subtle at all, so Yennefer doesn’t feel bad about taking her phone out to check if her own crush has accepted her proposal yet. Tissaia would look so  _ pretty  _ in a wedding gown. Yennefer will buy any ring she wants.

Instead, she sees that Vilgefortz is being himself and talking about how Tissaia is an idiot for rejecting him or whatever and that Tissaia has gotten so sick of this shit that she’s made a public announcement about not dating either of them. Yennefer would almost be a little hurt, but seeing as she has a horrible track record for losing her temper and saying questionable things, she can’t really blame poor Tissaia for snapping. So fine. No dating.

Was sex still on the table? Because she’s watched  _ so  _ many videos of Tissaia trying to force Republicans to act like human beings instead of giant sociopaths, and it must get so  _ stressful.  _ Yennefer would happily help with that. And then maybe after a few orgasms and a good night’s sleep, Tissaia would be more open to wearing her ring and letting Yennefer stare at her in awe whenever she does anything for the rest of eternity.

She’ll tweet one more thing, and then she’ll give Triss both her full attention and a formal apology. And a raise. Because she knows she’s hard to deal with, but Triss never makes her feel bad when she fucks up and is generally wonderful even when she doesn’t have to be, and Yennefer keeps trying to double her salary but Triss won’t let her.

She won’t ask Tissaia to marry or date her again, because clearly that’s not on the table right now, but there’s no reason she can’t let her dear senator know what she could be saying yes to. She browses through her photo library until she gets to last July’s beach shoot and selects something the magazine she was getting photographed for didn’t end up using because “this is a legitimate publication and not playboy magazine” and because the photo in question had accidentally involved “way too much cleavage.” This was fine at the time because Yennefer knows she has a bit of a reputation and looking classy in fashion magazines is only a good thing for her brand, but for this, she wants as much cleavage as possible.

She uploads the photo to twitter, with a caption insisting that if the press gets to be too much, Tissaia just needs to say the word and Yennefer will happily kidnap her for a weekend or so of zero cameras. Nothing about dating there! 

She’s confident that while Tissaia is all responsible and probably won’t respond to that, it’s at least going to give her some interesting dreams. And being Tissaia’s dream girl is exactly what she’s going for.


	4. Horrible, Horrible Bed Sharing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia is not dating Renfri, Rita is going to fix everything, Yennefer tries and fails to ask for permission, Sabrina needs to put some clothes on, and Triss needs a vacation and a hug.

Tissaia wakes up on her couch with Rita snoring softly in her ear and a horrible throbbing in her temples. Why, _why_ did she try to keep up with Rita? That woman’s liver was blessed by the gods, trying to match her drink for drink was suicide.

She’d also like to know why Rita had both wine and tequila hidden in her desk “for emergencies.” What type of emergency involved tequila? _This_ emergency should not have involved tequila!

Trying to get off the couch is an ordeal. Her body does not want to move at all, and Rita had evidently decided in her drunken haze to lie next to Tissaia on her couch instead of just, oh, _using the other one_ and so she’s sort of pressed to the back of it and stuck. Because while she’d normally be able to dislodge the woman without much of a problem, even raising an arm feels like a herculean effort and she does not want to get up, she wants to slip into a coma. 

“Tiss. Stop moving or I’m gonna puke.” Well, then. It’s decided. She’s sleeping in today unless she can persuade Rita to release her because replacing the carpet in this office involves dealing with humans and she’d rather die. But she also really, really wants a drink of water and maybe eleven ice packs.

“If I don’t move, I can’t get painkillers.” She’s pretty sure the surprise press conference emergency kit has a small pharmacy worth of prescription-grade drugs. She just needs to go get it.

She really does not want to go get it. She wants to decompose and let her remains become someone else’s problem.

“Get up, then.” Rita shoves her, hard, but since Rita is the one lying on the edge of the couch it is she who ends up falling off, hitting the thankfully carpeted floor with a dull grunt. Tissaia peers down. No blood. No puke. It’s probably fine. Rita has taken a pool cue to the skull after hustling a biker bar out of over five hundred dollars and ran away in six-inch heels without missing a beat, she can handle a two-foot fall. Right? Why is Tissaia worried?

“Son of a ballsack!” Okay, _now_ Tissaia is certain she’s fine. Wonderful. Time to start her Saturday, then.

She hauls herself into a seated position and waits for the room to stop spinning. She cannot vomit before Rita does or she’ll never live it down.

“So. About those painkillers?”

“Why don’t you get them, dear? You’re already up.” They both know Rita is not going and fetching anything because she is going to get as much out of her new “injury” as possible. Tissaia will accept her role as the responsible adult with good grace, but there will be teasing about it. 

“I’m dying, Tiss. You’re gonna have to go on without me.” Rita reaches towards the ceiling lights with one somewhat shaky hand, the other thrown over her face like a swooning starlet in an old black-and-white movie. All she’s missing is a string of pearls and a flapper dress. “In my memory...Slap some sense into Senator Stregobor and then maybe make out with Senator Tuirseach in front of her husband.”

Tissaia takes small, measured steps over Rita’s prone form, gritting her teeth and refusing to collapse until she’s made it to Rita’s desk. God knows what besides the medkit she’s going to find in there. “Calanthe Tuirseach is off-limits. Do not try to sleep with her, I mean it.” Of course, Rita’s type is rich, powerful, and far too fond of threatening to shoot people. When Tissaia allowed the woman to befriend her, she was not aware she was accepting a lifetime of babysitter duty!

“I’m not gonna, I’m dying, so you have to do it for me. It’s the rules.” Tissaia brushes past a truly alarming amount of condoms that give her many unwanted thoughts about what Rita might be doing in this office when she’s away, a plastic bag of what she’s positive is cannabis and some sort of taser. She has many questions and she does not want the answers. But finally, she sees the familiar red plastic of the medkit. She tears the thing open, selects a bright orange bottle with a grave warning label that announces that the medications within may only be taken with a prescription and only according to the recommended dose, and pours exactly three of the capsules into her palm according to the instructions she memorized years ago. She swallows them and tosses the bottle at Rita, who is suddenly alive enough to catch them in midair.

“Up you get, dear. I’ve got an interview that can double as breakfast.”

Rita decides that instead of heeding warning labels that were probably invented for a reason, she’s going to pour a liberal quantity of pills into her mouth directly from the bottle and swallow. Because of course, she is.

“Can we have burgers?” 

“..Fine. Just get off the floor, we’ve been in here long enough.” She knows that Rita means “Can I drink beer for breakfast and justify it by eating lunch food with it” but frankly, she’s too tired and inconvenienced to argue with a grown woman who is free to make her own terrible choices. 

They try to throw themselves into some kind of public-appropriate state, large sunglasses over their bloodshot eyes and coats over their wrinkled clothes. Anyone looking at them will assume that they haven’t slept, but hopefully, that will be blamed on Tissaia’s infamous workaholic tendencies and not the fact that she decided to play drinking games with her secretary at one in the morning. Tissaia grabs her briefcase and opens the door for Rita, who is still not entirely stable but is trying her best. The parking lot looms ahead, dotted with press waiting like vultures before a dying animal. Oh, if only she could just sprint to her car instead of acting dignified.

“This may be a bad time for this. But have you seen my bra? Because I can’t find it.” Tissaia does indeed have a vague memory of Rita hurling such a thing at her as an attempt to cure her of “being a giant prude who won’t bang a hot celebrity” and is thus “letting down everyone by not becoming a lesbian icon.” She’s not sure why that merited undergarments hurled in her general direction, but Rita Logic can be hard to follow even when she’s sober, so this is not surprising.

“Why on earth would I know where that was?” She’s right, this is a _horrible_ time to ask that!

“Oh, you wouldn’t, but you’re trying not to laugh now instead of looking like you’re going to hurl. You’re welcome!” Rita skips out the door like she’s off to meet a date and not a ravening horde of paparazzi, Tissaia following more sedately in her wake in the hopes that Rita’s somewhat terrifying ability to make people do what she wants will get some of these people out of the way. She is indeed smiling a bit. Rita’s ridiculousness is endearing, as is the effort made on her behalf, and smiling for the cameras won’t kill her.

“Senator! Do you have any comments on Yennefer Vegerberg’s newest proposal?”

“Tissaia! Over here!” Cameras flash and Tissaia does her very best not to punch or vomit on the many people pressing into her personal space. Normally when she’s confronted by the press, she’s surrounded by security keeping them back, but it is six am on a Saturday and she’s not evil so unfortunately, her team is likely at home with their families. 

Rita, the angel that she is, grabs her hand and also her briefcase, which she begins swinging about like an improvised cudgel. After one man is hit in the gut by Tissaia’s rather hefty mound of reports, everyone moves to a safer distance. Thank the gods for Rita, may she never drink herself to death!

She ducks inside of the car as Rita leaps into the backseat rather than making the trek to the passenger side and starts the engine, slamming on the gas so hard she thinks she’s going to leave skid marks and praying that no one is standing in front of the windshield. Fuck. This is really not the best way to start one’s morning. Rita, instead of putting on her seatbelt as Tisaia merges into oncoming traffic, decides to climb into the passenger seat of a moving vehicle because of _course,_ she does. What could _possibly_ be unsafe about that?!

“So who’s interviewing you and do we hate them?”

  
  
  


The interviewer’s name is Renfri Creyden. She has a massive vendetta against Senator Stregobor and politicians in general, but the people adore her sharp wit and reputation-ruining articles, so Tissaia is stuck watching Rita flirt with the bartender as she eats her liquid breakfast and tries not to look hungover in front of a potential nightmare.

“You’ve had quite the week, Senator. Your social media is blowing up.”

That is one way of putting it. Tissaia studies Renfri’s seemingly-sweet face, wondering which direction she’s going with this because there is obviously a trap here and it could be any of several dozen things. The reporter’s hand is twitching near her pen and notepad, and that sends up about eight hundred red flags in Tissaia’s brain. That pen has acted as a dagger and murdered the careers of at least a dozen people since Renfri rose to prominence.

“You replied to a string of tweets written by Yennefer Vengerberg starting last Wednesday, in one of which she announces that she’d like you to spank her on the desk in your office. Do you have any comment on that?”

Shit. She has a lot of comments, and most of them can be summed up to say “I wasn’t aware of that until after I’d already hit the post button, but I’m very much aware now and I kept replying, fuck” and the last thing she needs is an “aging senator doesn’t understand modern technology, is flirting with a woman a decade younger than her, should not be in office” narrative from this woman.

So instead, she pulls a Rita. Her eyes widen into the closest imitation of the master manipulator across the restaurant’s famous puppy eyes she can muster, plasters her best utterly confused look on her face, and prepares to lie a lot.

“She said _what_?”

Renfri grins, a sharklike thing showing far too many teeth. “Did you not read them?”

“I read until they became almost unintelligible. I’m sure you saw how as time went on, Ms. Vengerberg’s spelling abilities degenerated a fair bit. Are you sure that’s what they said? Because I think I’d remember that, and I think those last few could have said just about anything. Regardless of the content, I was a bit preoccupied with attempting to help run the country and may have mistranslated her admirable attempt at hieroglyphics. I stand by my well-wishes for dealing with her hangover, however. That can’t have been a pleasant morning.” She says this faster than she’d like. She is attempting to appear utterly untroubled by the whirlwind that is Yennefer and her attention, but the fact of the matter is that she finds this topic somewhat concerning and it shows in her voice.

“I see. And no one informed you as to their nature later?” What headline is Renfri attempting to get material for, here? Lesbian sex scandals are a bit beneath her. 

“As I said. I have been busy doing my job, not staying up to date on celebrity tweets.” And also Rita has kept her informed enough that she doesn’t have to read anything nowadays.

“But you’re obviously uninterested? In Ms. Vengerberg, obviously, given your reaction to her request for your hand in marriage. And that photo she sent.”

“What photo?” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, and Renfri looks like it’s Christmas and her birthday all in one.

“Here. I brought a copy just in case.” She slides a printed photograph across the table and Tissaia’s jaw drops. Yennefer is a vision, gazing up at the camera through long eyelashes with amused disinterest, lounging on the sand like it doesn’t bother her at all that it’s getting in her hair. The bright red bikini she’s wearing may as well not exist, every inch of her perfect skin on display. There’s a droplet of water making its way down her neck and into her cleavage that Tissaia wants to chase with her tongue, and-And she’s in an interview with a woman who could make or break her ability to get anything done for the next few months. Right. Focus, Tissaia.

“I haven't seen this, no. And I believe I made it quite clear that any relationship with Ms. Vengerberg, marriage or no, is not an option I am willing to pursue.” 

“And you’re not planning on taking her up on the offer of a purely sexual relationship?”

_What?_ “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” 

That was not the direction Tissaia had expected Renfri to go with this. At all. “What do you mean, why not?”  
  


Renfri shoots her a parody of Tissaia’s own attempt at an innocent look in a way that makes Tissaia think she’s not getting away with anything. “Well, she’s a beautiful woman, you’re both less than heterosexual if sources can be believed, and it’s not like she’s underaged or married. There’s no reason you couldn’t, is there?”

Tissaia stares into Renfri’s cold, dark eyes. What is happening right now? She could want to just write about Tissaia’s sexuality, which, fine, she’s not going to fight that, though what “sources” she has Tissaia would like to know immediately. Or she could just want a scandalous admission that she’s interested in Yennefer to keep the entire mess going for ad revenue. Or she could have a completely separate agenda. Tissaia doesn’t have the energy for this!

“What, exactly, are you attempting to have me say?” She’d normally love this sort of game, and Renfri seems a fascinating opponent, but this entire situation is so far past her area of expertise or comfort.

“Your approval rating is over eighty percent. You won your seat in a landslide, and you’re not up for reelection. You’re gay, single, have been that way for over a year, and your reaction to that photograph suggests you’re attracted to her. This has only been positive for your career, and yet the answer is a very firm no. Why?”

“What are you looking for, here?” She’s smart. Much smarter than Tissaia had given her credit for. And of course, she knows the answer “I’m not dating a spoiled celebrity I’ve never even met, are you insane?” would be a horrible one. So she’s not saying anything.

“Senator, this story is a gold mine. People are entertained by this sort of thing, no matter how trivial it may be. So give me something I can use to lure in enough clicks and cash to pay for a house or give me something to burn Senator Stregobor’s career, which I think you won’t hate doing. Your choice!”

Oh. _Oh._ Tissaia might like this girl. 

“So you have no desire to write about my somewhat unfortunate twitter history, and that was just to get me here?”

Renfri gives her the first real smile she’s seen on her face the entire exchange, and it’s both adorable and unnerving. “Gods, no, I’m absolutely publishing everything you’ve already said about not noticing the content of her tweets, just because it’s both harmless to you and profitable to me. But you can at least take out a rival at the same time, and isn’t that an equal trade?”

Tissaia makes a mental note to never let Renfri near her in a public place with lots of cameras, and also to introduce her to every republican she knows so she can watch the girl go to work on someone else. They are going to be great friends and even greater rivals. But first, she needs another bloody mary. Maybe two.

  
  
  


Yennefer wakes up at eleven in Triss’s guest room because apparently she “can’t be left unsupervised.” She’s not hungover because Triss wouldn’t let her drink, and it’s kind of nice being able to lay in bed without feeling like she wants to die. Her feet hurt from last night’s heels, her limbs are pleasantly heavy, and maybe she’ll just stay here for a bit.

She gropes around for her phone. She really doubts Tissaia is going to reply to her present from last night, but seeing everyone else’s reaction should be hysterical.

Instead, she sees an article published thirty minutes ago that she’s been tagged in. It’s an interview with Tissaia, which means Tissaia must have mentioned her in an interview, and Yennefer is suddenly very, very awake.

  
  
  


Triss is having a bizarre but a very wonderful morning. Yennefer was asleep and thus incapable of causing havoc, the press hadn’t figured out where she is, so there’s no mob in front of her apartment building, and her bed has a very pretty girl in it. That’s the bizarre part.

Not to say that she and Sabrina slept together. Well, they did sleep together, because Sabrina had vehemently insisted she’d rather die than share a bed with Yennefer and they were all too tipsy for Triss to ask about the history behind that statement. Instead, she’d just maneuvered the smaller woman into her bed and collapsed into her pillows while still in her office clothes without thinking too much about it. So yes, they slept together, but sleep was all that happened! Not that she’d be opposed to something else happening, exactly. Much later and after a few proper dates maybe, but for now absolutely not.

At the moment, Sabrina is dead to the world. She had evidently decided that blankets were completely unnecessary when she could just wrap her entire body around Triss’s midsection like some kind of blonde, well-endowed koala, and so when Triss had woken up at six out of habit and became aware that she’d been ushered into a new career as a personal heater, she decided to say screw it and sleep for ten more minutes.

It was not ten minutes when she woke up again, it was close to three hours, and when she attempted to sit up Sabrina was happy to tell her that was “absolute horseshit” and pull her back down. So here she is, fully aware that Sabrina is conscious but still clinging to her like this is just _completely normal,_ and maybe to Sabrina, it is but to Triss this is very unusual and she’s not sure what to do. Does she say anything? Does she offer to make breakfast? What did bizarrely attractive women with hair that smelled like an entire florist’s shop eat?

“Can you stop thinking? I can feel your anxiety.” Well, that was _not going to help._ Now, what does she do?

“Sorry. I can get up if you like?” This very logical suggestion is met by Sabrina tightening her grip around Triss’s stomach and nuzzling against her neck like they’re dating and this is something that happens every morning and not just after a night of awards-show idiocy. Her gay brain is screaming its tiny, stupid head off and she doesn’t know what to tell it.

“Fuck that. Stay here until Yennefer wakes up. Keep me from making horrible social media choices, or whatever you do for her. Just stay here and keep being pretty and comfortable and _relax._ I’d offer to help with that right here, but you’re cute and I should ask you out first.”

What? _What_? Someone, please show her the script of this entire situation because she’s forgotten whatever one is supposed to say to an offer like that, and also how to speak. Help.

“Triss! Come quick!”

Fucking Yennefer. Of course. But at least this saves her from trying to reply coherently to the very beautiful girl who’s been using her as a body pillow without speaking for several hours.

“Fucking Yennefer,” Sabrina groans, sitting up so that technically she’s straddling Triss in Triss’s bed, and she can’t move without sending Sabrina flying, and maybe she’s having a stroke. What did strokes feel like? Because she is trying her very best not to look at Sabrina’s breasts, but it’s made more difficult by the fact that Sabrina ditched her dress and decided to sleep in a tank top that Triss recognizes as hers. So Sabrina is wearing her clothes, which she stole, and now is just _sitting on top of her_ like this is normal and appropriate. “You don’t need to get up just because she asked you to. You could stay right here with me, and if you get all panicky and adorable I can give you a back rub or something.” That is exceptionally tempting. Things like this don’t just _happen,_ and she’s just about to consider fainting to get out of this impossible choice when Yennefer decides to ruin everything.

“Too late! Go back to fucking Sabrina!”

Too late? Too late for what? Oh, gods. Is there a fire? Did she shoot someone? Commit grand theft auto again?

“I’m going to kill her. If you don’t do it first, that is. I suppose you deal with her more often and thus have a stronger claim.” Sabrina gracefully dismounts her perch on Triss’s hips and struts down the hall to the guest room because of course, Yennefer won’t care if she investigates what’s happening half-naked. Of course not! What the hell kind of rich nudist colony has she gotten herself involved with here?

  
  
  


Triss and Sabrina are very quick to join Yennefer after she insinuates that they might be getting to know each other a little too well. And thank god, because she knows Sabrina, and leaving the two of them unattended for too long would probably be fatal to Triss, who isn’t a prude by any means but truly believes in things like true love, that you shouldn’t sleep with someone you barely know just because they’re hot, and “emotional connection,” whatever that means. It’s cute, and as her friend, Yennefer supports her life choices, and so technically she’s _helping_ by calling them both in here instead of waiting until Sabrina gives Triss a heart attack trying to seduce her.

“What happened? Are you okay? Is anyone going to be arrested? Oh my gods, should I call your lawyer? Does Sabrina need a lawyer? Do _I_ need one?”

“Darling, sit down before that improbably pure heart of yours bursts.” For once, Yennefer agrees with something Sabrina said, moving her legs so the cow can shove Triss’s shoulders hard enough to make her drop onto the mattress. Sabrina sits next to her, putting her far closer to Yennefer than she’d prefer, but whatever. It’s fine. It’s all _fine,_ her least favorite woman wants to bang her best friend and it’s technically Yennefer’s fault for letting them near each other but everything is _great._

“What did you do, Yenna?” Triss sounds exhausted, which is not good seeing as she got up, like, five seconds ago. Maybe Sabrina _would_ be good for her, for a purely temporary sort of arrangement.

“I...I really was going to ask first.” She was! It’s just that Triss was taking _forever_ and okay she fucked up, but she’s already sorry for it. Sort of, anyway. 

“Look at what you did, she’s hyperventilating,” Sabrina clucks disapprovingly and busies herself with blatantly manhandling Triss under the guise of trying to calm her down. It’s gross, but Triss absolutely melts and the barrage of follow-up questions Yennefer was expecting go unasked as her PR rep does her best to turn into a puddle in Sabrina’s arms. “What exactly did you do, anyway? Please tell me you tweeted something rude about-I mean _didn’t_ tweet anything rude about Vilgefortz again.” Triss scoffs at Sabrina’s horrible attempt at pretending she isn’t Yennefer’s lead enabler, and thank god she hasn’t lost her brain because Sabrina has nice tits. 

“I just wanted to confirm something. I figured it would probably be fine.”

“Confirm what, Yenna?” 

Yennefer beams, thrusting her phone into Triss’s lap, article already up on the screen. Renfri had included the photo Yennefer posted, insisting that Tissaia’s reaction to it “needed to be seen to be believed” and also that she was too busy running the country to realize that Yennefer wanted to sleep with her, or something. And that last part just was not okay. Tissaia had to at least know all her options!

“I confirmed that I meant all the things I tweeted on Wednesday.” And oh, did she mean each and every one of them.

“...You had an opportunity to deny them?” No. But even if she had a chance to say “whoopsie, never mind, I have terrible taste and don’t want Tissaia de Vries to ride my face until she can’t take any more” she wouldn’t accept it. Once she commits to something, admitting she was wrong is just not going to happen. Like ever.

“Fuck no. It’s just that Tissaia didn’t read all of the tweets and only found out today about some of the more fun ones.” She’s pretty sure Triss is wincing because in her mind, talking about bondage on social media and the word fun do not go together, but it’s fine. It will be _fine._

“Yennefer, what did you post? The exact words.” 

“I stand by what I said last Wednesday because I would have to be insane and blind not to at least make the offer. And if you @TissaiaDeVries weren’t aware, you look very hot in the blazer you wore to your last interview. I’d love to see whatever’s under it.” Sabrina is doubled over on the bed and snickering, which is just ridiculous. Compared to Sabrina, her courtship of Tissaia has been practically nonexistent, so the woman has no room to laugh! “Fuck, Yennefer. You’re really asking for nudes right now?” 

Well, she wouldn’t object if Tissaia felt like sending any. But there was no pressure! It was just a thought!

“Please, _please_ tell me I heard that wrong and you didn’t decide it was ‘probably fine’ to ask an actual senator for photos of her boobs?” Triss decides that sitting up is asking for too much energy and flops onto her back, landing partially on Yennefer’s stomach and not looking at all apologetic when the impact sends her into a coughing fit. Huh. Maybe she is a bit annoyed.

And when you put it like _that_ it does sound like a bad idea. But that’s not what she’d meant, kind of? It depends on how someone looks at it, okay?

She’s just about to bite the bullet and attempt to apologize to her very saintly, patient best friend and also try to stealthily bat away the hand Sabrina has on her thigh because she is going to be a good chaperone damn it all when Sabrina’s phone dings to notify them all that Tissaia de Vries has responded to Yennefer’s tweet.

Triss curls into a tiny ball and looks like she’s bracing for impact. Sabrina and Yennefer dive for Sabrina’s phone, because even though Yennefer has her own, Sabrina’s is already open and she’s a bitch.

Sabrina is all of 5’3, and half of her body weight is in her tits, so the wrestling match between her and Yennefer is very short. Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter that Yennefer has her pinned because Sabrina decided the best strategy was to stuff her cell phone down the shirt she’s wearing and stare up at Yennefer as if daring her to take it.

She really, really wants that phone. But she also knows that Sabrina will never let her hear the end of “that time you decided to feel me up in front of other people” and she doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction. Decisions, decisions, all of them not giving her everything she wants immediately and also probably dumb as hell. Fuck that.

“Triss, can you make Sabrina show us the tweet?” Getting the innocent one involved is low, but this is Sabrina, so guess what? It’s justified!

“Here, love. I hope this doesn’t cause you too much work.” Sabrina fishes the phone out of her cleavage and hands it to a very flushed Triss before she can open her mouth to ask, pressing a quick peck to her cheek just because no one told her she couldn’t. Fucking bitch. That was just being a kiss-up, right there, and Yennefer hates that it appears to be working because Triss is too good for this world and doesn’t realize she’s being flirted with by a minor demon.

“Oh. That’s actually...I think she has a sense of humor. Great?” She flips the phone around to show them a photo of Tissaia standing in front of one of her campaign posters, in the exact same blue silk shirt she was wearing in her last interview under the blazer that Yennefer loved so much. The picture was probably taken the same day, and this was so not what Yennefer meant when she asked to see what was under the damn thing, but she has to admire both Tissaia’s attempt at teasing her back a bit and also the guts it took to use her for free campaign press.

Sabrina grabs her phone back and types something out before anyone can stop her. It’s like time freezes, and if Triss gets mad at her too now that’s great because fuck Sabrina and her plans to seduce someone way too good for her, but also angry Triss. Angry Triss is not good for anyone.

“What. Did. You. Just. Do?” Yennefer may or may not be foaming at the mouth. She realizes this is a little angry to get over a tweet, but she has so much more energy than usual with no hangover, and Sabrina is pushing her a little far this morning.

“I told your girlfriend she’s a massive fucking tease, which she is.” The shit-eating grin on Sabrina’s face makes Yennefer kind of want to knock her teeth in, no matter whether or not what she did was bad. Is it bad? Yennefer doesn’t think so, but she recognizes that perhaps her judgment on tweet quality might be somewhat skewed.

They both turn to Triss, the judge, jury, and executioner of their little trial of the tweets. She’s got her eyes squeezed shut and she’s hugging a pillow in a way that looks a little more like she’s attempting to strangle it, which is the most violent thing Yennefer has ever seen her do. That’s not good, but this time it’s not her fault so she’s just going to lean back and watch Triss beat Sabrina senseless. She’s insanely tall and does semi-active shit like gardening for fun, so maybe she can throw Sabrina out a window. 

“You two are going to go viral. Senator de Vries, too. Oh, gods, people are going to think she does actually want to date you. Does she even have an advisor for this?”

Tissaia might want to date her?! She’s not sure that’s what Triss actually _said,_ but Tissaia is a smart lady. So maybe it was on purpose. Maybe she’s trying to be all subtle and classy and admit she’s into it without actually saying so. Hah! Take that, Vilgefortz!

“Yennefer, stop doing that thing.”

“...Huh?” She wasn’t doing anything! She was just thinking about Tissaia and dating and dating Tissaia. Because if she’s playing hard to get, then Yennefer is going to need to do some serious thinking about how the fuck she’s supposed to earn her affections or whatever. How did that even _work_?

“The thing you’re doing with your face? It’s disturbing, even for you. Triss, back me up on this, would you darling?”

...Does Sabrina mean smiling? She will admit that she might potentially look a bit more gleeful than is considered socially appropriate or attractive, but again: Tissaia might or might not have deliberately caused #yennaia to start trending again. She’s allowed to be excited!

“Just be quiet, both of you. Yennefer, stop being disturbing or whatever, you’ve done enough today. I’m going to go make coffee. Sabrina, do not let her text, call, or post anything. Actually, I want both your phones. You’re clearly not responsible enough to have them unsupervised.”

She looks at Sabrina. Sabrina glances back before continuing to stare at Triss like she is some sort of pissed-off goddess who must be appeased, which is close enough to the truth. They hand over their phones, because what other choice do they have?

“Great. Um, I guess I’ll make breakfast. Or something. Just don’t cause complete chaos until lunch, that’s all I ask!”

Triss is choosing to leave her alone with Sabrina, so the odds on that are not good, but neither of them is willing to actually say that because without actually saying anything, she and Sabrina have formed the official alliance of Keep Triss Happy, and so no backtalk will be heard until she leaves the room. After that, all bets are off for who gets to try to access Twitter from Sabrina’s second, hookup-only cell phone first.

  
  


Rita thinks that Yennefer might have some competition for Tissaia’s heart. She’s not sure what was actually said in her interview with this Renfri chick, but Tissaia actually smiled _twice,_ the non-fake kind, and that’s a new record because Tissaia may love a good battle of wits but she’s not a huge fan of reporters up in her face.

She’s also blushing heavily, which is another indication that her boss might have a little crush, and while Rita would love Tissaia to bang a gorgeous girl half the world is in love with, a sexy reporter works too! She’s a supportive friend, and Tissaia needs to get laid, so either option works. 

“So. Should we tell Yennefer you’ve moved on?”

Tissaia keeps her eyes on the road like a responsible adult driving their somewhat tipsy friend home probably should, but she’s doing that cute little eyebrow crease thing that means she’s confused. “I thought I already did that, and then you expressed that I shouldn’t have. Did you change your mind for some reason?”

“Well, you can’t date Renfri _and_ Yennefer unless you get both of them to agree to some sort of polygamous thing, and while I would totally approve you can’t even hear the word threesome without losing your shit so I assumed that-”

“What? No. Absolutely not. I have no desire to sleep with Renfri. Or Yennefer! I am not sleeping with or dating either or both of them, and that is final.”

Rita thinks this is perhaps the stupidest thing she’s ever heard, and she has sat through an alarming amount of Stregobor speeches. “Okay, but you liked her. Renfri, I mean. And she said something that you thought was hot, so it’s like your duty to tell me all about it so I can live vicariously through you until a hot celebrity decides to drunk-tweet me.” Because unlike Tissaia, she’d be likely to say yes. She can’t lose her job for a sex scandal, after all, or she already would have.

“No comment.” Tissaia’s cheeks are a light shade of pink, and Rita can see the muscles in her jaw contract. It’s so cute when she tries to pretend she’s an emotionless robot because they both know that’s bullshit.

“Stop gritting your teeth, you hate the dentist too much to damage them.” Tissaia relaxes enough to shoot Rita a truly terrifying smile. Rita grins back, poking her hard in the shoulder because secrets are no fun unless you share with Rita. Those are the rules! “What did she say to you? If you tell me I’ll be quiet the whole way home.” This is both a very tempting offer, she knows, and a physical impossibility, which Tissaia knows. Oh well!

“She showed me a photograph I was not aware existed.” Tissaia shuts her mouth and focuses on changing lanes, which is not okay because that was like, no detail whatsoever.

“Of who? And where was it from?” She keeps jabbing her finger into Tissaia’s shoulder when she is ignored. Because not telling your best friend all your embarrassing personal secrets is _rude_.

“Check Yennefer Vengerberg’s twitter and try to contain the squealing we both know is about to occur.” Oh, she will absolutely do that. She whips out her phone and is just about to actually be quiet until they get to her apartment because hot _damn_ she could stare at this woman’s thighs for like eight hours without blinking when Sabrina fucking Glevissig posts a new tweet announcing that Tissaia is a giant fucking tease and that she sends Yennefer her condolences. But she did promise to be quiet, so maybe she’ll let Tissaia find out that her totally innocent attempt at shutting Yennefer up wasn’t taken that way. Rita could have _told her_ that no one in their right mind would take that as anything other than flirting, but in her defense, Tissaia should be flirting with this girl that she clearly has a crush on, so she made a choice to be a good friend but a horrible secretary and let that train leave the station without objecting.

Then Yennefer announces that if Tissaia is playing hard to get, then she’s “totally down for that” and now wants to know what she needs to do to prove to Tissaia that she is not, in fact, a childish celebrity whose only redeeming quality is her looks.

Yes! _Yes!_ Everything is going so well today!

She may be rocking back and forth in her seat a bit, and yes, there is some squealing.

“What, did one of your POTs or whatever it’s called get together?” Uh, it’s called an OTP, and yes, once the second half that happens to be sitting next to her gets her head out of her ass then her ship will be sailing.

She shoves her phone in Tissaia’s face because she did promise to be quiet, leading to a great deal of undignified swearing as Tissaia attempts to remove the obstruction for her line of vision. “Rita! This is not safe. Just read it to me, whatever it is, and _stop poking me or I swear to all the gods-_ ”

“Yennefer says that she’s going to convince you to stop playing hard to get and wants a list of what she needs to do for that.”

It’s funny how one statement can nearly cause a woman to crash her car into the minivan that decided to just park in front of them without any warning whatsoever. But as things are, Tissaia’s car skids to a halt mere inches from a “my kid is on the honor roll at who gives a fuck academy” bumper sticker, lays on the horn with the fury of several hundred civilian protestors, and then finally turns to face Rita. It dawns on her that Tissaia looks quite deranged, and she better hope the press doesn’t know where she lives or they’re fucked because this is not going to photograph well.

“She did-She said- _What_?” Rita nods, waiting for Tissaia’s big, sexy brain to come to the conclusion sitting in front of her nose. “...I need you to type something for me. You know my twitter password?” Uh, duh. Better than Tissaia does, probably, and she’s very lucky Rita has never abused that information before. Drunk her can be a rather mischievous, impulsive creature.

“Please do announce that I have no desire to date anyone who regularly ends up drunk tweeting political figures and is less responsible than the republican party.”

Right. Okay. She will say exactly that, because she knows Tissaia is at her breaking point and adding, like, a bunch of hearts or a winking emoji would send her over the edge. Now, does she maybe phrase things so it sounds like Yennefer making questionable life choices is why Tissaia isn’t dating her, and not that Tissaia is uninterested because she thinks Yennefer is a giant mess? Maybe. But in her defense, Tissaia _is_ interested, Yennefer could use some inspiration to get sobered up a bit, which is super hypocritical of Rita but whatever, and so technically she’s just helping. Like, how many times is she going to have the opportunity to play matchmaker for Yennefer Vengerberg and her boss?

Yennefer takes all of five minutes to reply, announcing that okay, getting sober and using her money responsibly is totally something she can do, and does anyone know any good charities or classes on how the stock market works? This is, of course, not what Tissaia meant at all, not even fucking close, so now she needs to keep Tissaia from shooting herself in the foot and ruining everything once she sees this interpretation of her rejection.

“Guess what?”

“Oh no. What now?” Uh, this is not a “what now?” situation! This is excellent, quality news that Rita is sharing!

“Yennefer just agreed to donate like a million dollars to fund public schools. I think she just googled what the republicans are trying to defund, but people seem to be copying her, and anyway I think you just accidentally started an internet philanthropy challenge.

“Right. That’s...Philanthropy is good,” She speaks haltingly, chewing the words before spitting them out like a child learning to read, because of course “Yennefer” and “good things for society” don’t really go together in Tissaia’s oh-so-rigid worldview. 

Rita adopts her best “Everything is gonna be great!” smile and nods encouragingly. “Right? Maybe if we leave it alone the entertainment industry will like, tax themselves or something.” All she needs is for Tissaia to stay off twitter for a bit. Long enough for everyone including Yennefer to become convinced that Tissaia is into her and she’s just going to need to work for it. Because if Yennefer keeps at this, Tissaia _has_ to snap eventually.

“I suppose if Yennefer is choosing to make wealth redistribution trendy, it would be irresponsible to stop her.” Exactly! Oh, there will be a wedding, and Tissaia will smile more than once a week and as maid of honor Rita can flirt with all of Yennefer’s bridesmaids, who are sure to be very attractive. It’s all gonna be perfect! All she has to do is distract a woman who hates twitter from checking twitter. Easy!


	5. The Gang Loses Their Shit and Their Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Triss assumes command, Tissaia rots her brain, Rita rules the internet, Sabrina has emotions and hates them, and Yennefer has the best day ever.

The #DateTissaiaDeVries challenge goes viral in under an hour. 

This is made funnier by the fact that Tissaia de Vries doesn’t have the foggiest idea that she has so many people attempting to buy her affections, because Tissaia de Vries is busy lying on her secretary’s couch with an ice pack on her forehead, watching horrible reality TV.

Or, well, Rita is watching horrible reality TV and Tissaia is mocking the contestants, which is the entire reason Rita turned it on. Tissaia is funny when she’s in pain. Tissaia is funny, period, but when she’s miserable she gets mean and also stops self-policing what she says.

Her twitter mentions are even funnier, so Rita is curled up on the loveseat that is really too small for laying on instead of sitting next to her with popcorn because she doesn’t want Tissaia to see her watching the havoc religiously. But in her defense, this is too good to miss, even as Tissaia starts tearing apart the bland, conventionally attractive dudebro that is the prize in this dating show. The whole thing is very reminiscent of their current situation, only Tissaia would make an awesome bachelorette, the contestants chasing her are way hotter most of the time, though granted some of the tech millionaires in her mentions need to bathe, and also there’s over five hundred of them now. This is not something she feels like telling Tissaia just yet, because people who’ve never really publicly noticed Tissaia until today seem to be crawling out of the woodwork to do charitable shit in her name because Tissaia is no longer just a woman but a prize, and what motivates mankind if not the desire to win the internet? She’d freak the fuck out, and then Rita will need to watch her try to fix a situation that is so far out of their hands it may as well have made a home on the moon, and that will be a mess.

The big, scary situation is also a little pathetic. Like, there’s an entire horserace of billionaires outspending each other just because this may or may not be a good PR move later, even though it totally won’t be because Tissaia has a very firm position on billionaires and it’s that they shouldn’t exist, so these dopes are kind of shooting themselves in the foot. Random celebrities who faded into irrelevance years ago seem to want Tissaia to acknowledge them in order to provoke a feud with Yennefer or possibly Vilgefortz if the idiot still thinks he’s in the game. Private citizens who really don’t have the disposable income to be buying into this shit are donating as much as they can with some really creepy love letters that could also double as things Gollum said about the one ring. It’s a complete shitshow, and Rita loves it, but also Tissaia will not no matter how much social good it’s doing. Reality TV is a much better plan, really.

Yennefer remains the ringmaster of this little circus, and her bio now has a counter of how much money in total this mess has raised. Every time it goes up another hundred thousand, she pops up to both congratulate people and shout out various philanthropic organizations Rita would bet she didn’t know existed until today. She’s feeling quite proud of herself. With one tweet, she sort of started some kind of charity bonanza  _ and  _ might have dragged Yennefer’s reputation out of the mud. Go her! And go Tissaia, who needs to collect her wife soon, even though she isn’t aware that Yennefer is her future wife in the first place or that Rita is planning her wedding. Hm. Will Yennefer wear a suit or a dress? Black certainly suits her, but would that be too goth for a wedding? 

“I don’t understand why anyone considers spending their time and effort chasing this buffoon an appropriate investment. He has the brains of a turnip.” Rita nods along because Tissaia is probably right, but she can’t help but smirk over the entire situation and how it parallels the real competition going on without Tissaia’s knowledge. Ooh! Maybe she should, as Tissaia’s very best friend in the whole wide world, start running an official competition for her hand? 

It would be very rigged for a specific winner, obviously, because she wants Yennefer to rock Tissaia’s world  _ yesterday,  _ but it would be entertaining and that’s really all that matters. Unlike Tissaia, she isn’t mentally stimulated by her work. She really thought this whole working for a politician thing would involve scandal and intrigue, but mostly it’s just budget reports. This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to Tissaia’s career, and Rita is going to prolong it for as long as possible. Come hell or high water or an angry Tissaia-Actually, no. Angry Tissaia scares her a little. She’ll prolong this until Tissaia finds out, at which point she’ll pretend it’s an accident and lie her ass off. She just hopes her best friend decides to surrender first. 

  
  
  


Yennefer does not like journalist twitter. 

Here she is, trying to do a good thing for entirely unselfish reasons, and she keeps getting compared to republicans. And excuse them! She passed biology in school and knows that climate change exists, and also can do basic math, so she is already way smarter than the republicans. This is offensive!

“Hey, Triss? Can I sue for slander if-”

“No. No, you cannot, so stop asking. Unless they are saying things that aren’t true, and comparisons do not count, you cannot sue for slander. We’ve been over this.” The “so many fucking times, you dramatic bitch” goes unsaid because Triss didn’t inherit the being extra gene and also because she’s wonderful. 

“...Can I compare  _ them  _ to republicans?” She has a feeling doing that wouldn’t be illegal, but it might annoy Triss, and since she and Sabrina decided to camp out in her home until the press decides to stop camping out in front of  _ their  _ homes, upsetting their host would be bad. She wouldn’t kick them out, but she might stop providing them with scones, and while Sabrina might then stop complaining about carbohydrates and then eating them anyway, Yennefer would consider that an abomination under god. 

“Also no. Do not compare anyone to anything. Just keep talking about charity, that’s actually a good thing for once.” 

“Don’t you mean let  _ you  _ keep talking about charity?” Triss knows more about this stuff then Yennefer thought was possible. There’s a whole whiteboard of causes and what they do that she made, and she told Yennefer to pick the ones she liked, but Yennefer  _ did  _ inherit the extra gene and picked all of them. Using Triss’s reporter-friendly talking points, she actually sounds like she knows what she’s talking about, and good things are happening, and this is kind of fun. She hasn’t even thought about how Tissaia will react for like two hours and it’s still fun. Huh. 

“You’re the one who wrote the tweets.” Triss has a flustered grin on her face like she’s not programmed to respond to recognition of how awesome she is, and that’s really kind of tragic. 

“And you’re the one who made sure she made sense writing them, dear. You’re a proper hero.” Sabrina leans over from her spot on Triss’s couch to kiss her cheek and cap the marker she’s been holding far too close to her face, as shown by the black smudge on her cheek from accidentally graffitiing herself. Which is just hysterical, but also can you still get high from sniffing whiteboard markers? Should she tell Sabrina to stop getting in the way of Yennefer being able to meet high Triss?

“Oh, stop it. This is my job.” Uh, no. Handling Yennefer’s inevitable fuck ups is her job. Letting them all crash in her house, making them food, and giving this many fucks is not her job. That’s just Triss being Triss.

“Okay, then technically you’re working on a Saturday and I should pay you overtime. Right?” She knows she’s right because Triss supports things like labor laws and then Yennefer decided that now  _ she  _ supports them and the whiteboard has a lot of things about that written out and Triss can’t argue with her own notes. Right?

“You should get at least triple your regular fees for dealing with Yennefer in person. After all, according to the Aretuzan times, she’s even  _ worse  _ than the republican party at budgeting.”

She has never been so angry at a statement she agrees with completely. Fucking Sabrina. Being a two-faced bitch must just be her superpower. 

“Stop comparing me to republicans or I swear I will post those pictures of that time you accidentally got your eyebrows burned off because Henselt couldn’t follow safety laws.” It was pretty funny once they were no longer convinced Sabrina might actually be hurt, though at the time Sabrina was understandably enraged. She can’t even blame the woman for her little break, enter, and punch stunt she pulled later. If some egomaniac of a producer nearly burned her alive, Yennefer would probably cut his breaks. 

“The Republicans don’t seem to care for being compared to you much either.” Sabrina is beaming down at her cell phone like she holds a small grenade, which  _ would  _ be bad if Triss weren’t in the room. Triss can handle anything, today has proved that beyond the shadow of a doubt, and also Sabrina won’t want to upset her. “Not at all, actually. Although they seem to be a bit hung up on everyone calling them drunks and not incompetent. Our political system in a nutshell.”

...Fine. Yennefer has cared about politics for like a week, but she’s all for offending the party of racist fucks. That sounds great. “So if I invite them to, like, alcoholics anonymous with me?”

“Do it-” 

“Do not do that!”

“...Right. That’s what I meant. Do not do that. Because…”

Triss sighs and drops her head into her hands. “Because announcing you’re an alcoholic on twitter is a bad idea, even if it may be true? Is  _ anything  _ private to you two?”

Private? What is this private of which she speaks? People have been peeping through her windows with cameras since she was a teenager, nothing is ever private. “I think they already know, Triss.” And if they already know, she should be able to piss people off with it. Duh.

“Okay, I’ll admit you drink too much and I seriously worry about you, but-”

“I’m quitting!”

Both Sabrina and Triss look at her like she’s lost her mind, and maybe she has, but she said it so now it’s time to dig in her heels and commit to a spur of the moment decision that she made with no brainpower whatsoever. Hooray!

“...Are you feeling alright? Let me get a thermometer or something.” 

“It’s fine, Triss. I’m not sick. I just decided that you’re absolutely right about everything, and I’m going to stop being a mess.” It’s not because a pretty girl mentioned that Yennefer being drunk all the time isn’t attractive. Except that it totally is, but she doesn’t want Triss to worry about a new and exciting way for Yennefer to be a moron, so she’s sticking to “I’ve come to my senses” instead of “I ignored your very valid concerns until I decided to start thinking with my vagina.” She’s no press expert, but she knows which of those sounds better.

She’s hit in the gut by a flying Triss, who seems to have decided to squeeze the life out of her for some reason.“I’m so proud of you!” And that’s great, it really is, but there won’t be much to be proud of if she passes out through lack of oxygen.

“Triss...Can’t...Breathe…” 

The vice around her stomach loosens, and Yennefer inhales deeply. “Right. Sorry about that.”

“S’all good. Just dying here.” And realizing that she just committed to not drinking when people are stupid any more. Oh, gods. This is gonna  _ suck.  _ But Triss is doing that thing where she smiles and suddenly tiny cartoon birds start chirping and the sun forms a convenient halo around her dark curls, and it’s really hard to  _ not  _ do whatever she asks. It’s very lucky she doesn’t use that power for evil, though Yennefer really wishes she could see that just once. 

  
  
  


Tissaia thinks she may melt into Rita’s couch. This is a horrifying thought because the things that have likely happened on this couch make her skin crawl, but she is exhausted and queasy from diner food and this ice pack feels fantastic. The man on the TV screen is holding a rose and monologuing about how he has managed the miraculous feat of developing feelings for three separate women over the course of a few weeks, and she can’t help but scoff. She’s not sure if this program is scripted or if the man is just delusional, but either way, she’s less than invested in the action.

This is her justification for checking twitter. She knows this is a bad idea, and that with the direction things are currently going she shouldn’t risk ending the billionaire spending spree early, but also? She’s bored, and something about Rita’s overly-helpful behavior in the car puts her on edge. Rita is never helpful. Oh, Tissaia loves her, really she does, but that woman cares about her own entertainment and very little else, and Tissaia isn’t certain what in this situation Rita could have found to be entertaining. So she’s suspicious.

Twitter, it appears, is doing just fine without her. Even Yennefer appears to be behaving, and she’s either hired someone to write everything for her or the lack of alcohol makes her a far more coherent woman because most of her new platform seems very well-researched. Granted, the actual delivery tends towards the rude and dramatic, but as evidenced by her little acceptance speech, that can be very effective. Tissaia is even a bit impressed, and more than ready to close both the app and her tired eyes, so she’s just about to turn off her phone when a new threat arises in the North.

Or more specifically from Cintra. Because Murphy’s law states that anything that can go wrong will, and this has lent itself to the all-grown-up, republican version of Yennefer to make an appearance into this little telenovela of a twitter exchange.

More specifically, Senator Calanthe Tuirseach must have decided to have one too many beers with lunch, discovered there was an argument that she wasn’t a part of yet, and decided to jump in with both combat-boot clad feet.

“I’m going to kill her.”

Tissaia doesn’t realize that she’s said that out loud, and her hint that she might be talking to herself again is Rita reacting like she just announced her intentions to plant a bomb in her favorite vodka distillery.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it. Just give me your phone before you do anything that might ruin everything!”

“Ruin what, exactly?” She isn’t aware that Rita has any plans that would be impacted by Calanthe’s immediate demise, and she’s incredibly concerned if that turns out to be false. Drunk Rita does not need drunk Calanthe in her life. There would be bloodshed.

“Your wedding? I’ve planned everything.” Rita decides the best method of containing whatever disaster she’s imagined is to confiscate Tissaia’s phone, and the best way to pry it out of her grip is to sit on Tissaia’s very upset stomach until she can’t breathe. It’s quite rude. Tissaia will yell at her once she remembers how to inhale without coughing.

“She’s already married, as I recall. And quite a scandal that was.” 

“She’s  _ what _ ? She’s been flirting with you and she’s married? How did I not  _ know _ ? This is terrible!” 

Rita is well aware Calanthe is married. Just this morning, she was insisting Tissaia kiss the woman in front of her husband as a last request. Which makes Tissaia think that perhaps they have their wires crossed and are not in fact both discussing the same people. She hopes not, at least, because if this is Calanthe flirting with her, she feels deeply sorry for her husband.

“...Well, seeing as she’s now insisted that I ought to give Ms. Vengerberg what she wants without further delay in order to avoid dying alone, I feel like any nuptials you might be planning ought to be postponed if not canceled.” 

Rita’s face scrunches as she puzzles through this new and unexpected information. She raises a finger as if to illustrate that her gossip-loving brain is overheating while attempting to process what has just occurred. She looks very much like a student sitting at an exam they are wildly unprepared for. As Rita’s boss, Tissaia wishes she were less familiar with that look. As her friend, she is laughing hysterically. On the inside, at least.

“To review. It’s Calanthe we’re murdering, and Yennefer is to the best of your knowledge not married?” Tissaia nods, though she hates that she’s now, in Rita language, okayed the continued planning of her apparently approaching wedding to her new greatest distraction. Wonderful. “Great. There’s a shovel in the garage. Though she may have a point about telling Yennefer yes and going on a date with someone actually attractive for once. So maybe you should just reply-Ow!” Tissaia is getting tired of being crouched over, so when she decides to sit up like a corpse in a horror movie, Rita is sent sprawling and falls to the floor for the second time that day. At least this time it’s on her ass and not her skull. 

“I agree, I should definitely reply.” Rita’s face radiates pure joy, and Tissaia almost feels bad about what’s about to come out of her mouth, because that is just adorable and also probably a carefully-created mask developed to manipulate her. “To Calanthe. That was rude, after all.”

“And then ask Yennefer out.”

“And then take a nap, dear.” Calanthe’s deranged ramblings have attracted a truly frustrating amount of attention, and maybe Tissaia is being bitter today, but screw it. She’s allowed to be petty every once and a while. “Any woman who attempted to broker an arranged marriage ending in a surprise pregnancy and a second, unplanned wedding shouldn’t give romantic advice. Is that too harsh, or-”

“No, post it. Like, right now.” So yes, then. Definitely too harsh, but she is an adult and if she wants to insult a political rival for decades of stupidity, then she can do that. Probably.

“Fine. If it blows up, I am claiming you stole my phone. Is your guest bedroom still in the same place?” Tissaia wasn’t kidding about that nap. Her limbs feel like perhaps they decided to transform into lead without her consent, or like she spent the night sleeping off an entire bottle of wine curled up on a loveseat with another person deciding to use her as a pillow. She’s tired, and she’s cranky, and it is Saturday so she can sleep if she wants to.

“Ugh, fine, use me as your scapegoat. You don’t need a nap, you need to get laid!” Rita shouts after her, but Tissaia is already kicking off her heels and collapsing face-first into the mattress. No one’s feelings are going to matter for the next hour or so, and then when she wakes up she’ll act her age again and probably delete that tweet. Just one hour.

  
  
  


If Yennefer doesn’t stop jumping around like a five-year-old on a sugar high, Sabrina is going to smack her. The size difference doesn’t fucking matter, she will find a way to bludgeon her into unconsciousness with one of the many vases full of flowers Triss keeps in her apartment, and then maybe in payment for this vital public service, she can get a proper kiss. After that, she can drag Triss back to her bed and thank her for letting them stay so long, perhaps persuading her to let Sabrina stay indefinitely in the process. 

“I cannot believe we’re celebrating a republican insulting your crush. Can we at least acknowledge it’s a little weird?” Triss’s voice is higher than usual, and she looks utterly lost. It’s adorable. 

“Maybe Tissaia will listen to a fellow politician, no matter how much of a bitch.” Triss stares at her, one eyebrow cocked and a skeptical look in her warm brown eyes. Gods, she has such pretty eyes. They’re like honey when the sunlight hits them properly and her freckles are just adorable and...Right. She is staring. “Yes, it’s weird. Yennefer is weird. Yennefer is being  _ really fucking weird,  _ so if you’d calm the hell down, Yen, that would be fantastic!”

“I will not. We’d be so perfect even Senator Tuirseach can see it. She took, what, ten years to marry her husband? This is a great sign!”

Sabrina is tempted to mention that Senator Tuirseach’s nuptials also involved several people ending up in tears and were supposed to be only her daughter’s instead of the bizarre double wedding circus they turned out to be, and also that she likely only married the poor man for his political connections and the fact that they’re now disgustingly in love was just a lucky coincidence. But Triss is nodding along and  _ smiling  _ because something about that statement must be either sweet or believable to her far less cynical brian, and Sabrina feels as though this isn’t the place to say “Well, actually, this romantic thing is a farce and love is bullshit.” She normally delights in doing that, but she is a guest, and that would be rude, and also possibly upset the angel sitting next to her. She’s watching Yennefer’s victory dance with a smile on her face so wide her eyes crinkle with it, and her happiness is one of those things that you feel the second you walk into the room and then pulls you in until you’re smiling too, rather more sardonically, but still. She doesn’t want to upset the peace and end that.

“Are you marrying Tissaia now? Because I feel like you should probably sleep with her first.” Triss smacks her in the shoulder hard and is looking at her like she’s just said that Yennefer ought to strangle a puppy, which is ridiculous because  _ of course, it’s too early to plan the wedding?  _ Is she the only sane one here? 

“Forget sleeping with her! You’ve never even met. How can you have feelings for her?” Oh. Feelings. Those things that normal people usually had in relationships. She thinks she knows why Triss might have been a bit annoyed, now. Shit.

“What? Gods, no. I’m not thinking about marrying her.” She’s lying. She can’t even finish the sentence before a smirk starts curling over her lips, and by the end, she’s snickering like  _ not  _ wanting to marry Tissaia is as ludicrous as the existence of the Easter Bunny. Fantastic. The bitch has finally lost her mind, and Sabrina is here which means she might be legally culpable. 

“So what is the plan, then? Because I’m fucking lost.” She would guess it involves sleeping with Tissaia at some point because Yennefer is Yennefer and she tries to sleep with anyone moderately attractive whom she can stand being in the same room with, but beyond that, she’s a bit confused. This is a lot of money to give away for a girl. Or boy, frankly. Just, this is extra and phenomenally stupid even by the standard she and Yennefer usually operate on, and she’d like to know that Yennefer is still in possession of her limited brain cells because otherwise, she should just call an inpatient facility and comfort Triss over this tragic loss while the nice orderlies haul Yennefer off to a new life of straight jackets and eating jello.

“I’m going to convince her to date me,  _ then  _ I’m going to marry her. There’s a process.” Is there?  _ Is there?  _ Normally Yennefer’s process involves buying someone alcohol, getting up in their face with petty insults and bickering until they kiss her to shut her up, and then finding the nearest available empty room to screw in. This is  _ not  _ that process or any Sabrina has seen up to this point. Giving up drinking and a shit ton of money and trying to act responsibly? She’ll pass. 

Triss drops an arm over Sabrina’s shoulders, staring down at her in abject concern, and she feels a very concerning level of fluttering in her chest. They’re so close, and her lips look so soft, and-Nope. Not doing this shit. Fuck her hormones for making her all needy right now!

“Are you alright? You haven’t threatened to slap Yennefer for a full ten minutes.” Triss beams down at her, and Sabrina’s usual response to people making jokes about her is to make one back while trying to be as emotionally devastating as possible but in this case? She presses against Triss, leaning against the top of the damn couch to make herself an inch or so taller, and brings her lips as close to her ear as she can excuse as being socially acceptable. 

“Maybe Yennefer would have my attention if you weren’t right here.” Triss ducks her head and Sabrina can see her flushing a bit. Thank the gods. She knows how to play “fluster the beautiful woman.” She does not want to deal with any more strange heart-fluttering bullshit, so instead, she’ll just embark on a quest to make Triss blush as much as humanly possible and not let her do that strange “staring into her eyes until she feels an actual emotion” thing. That thing is horrible and she hates it.

“Can you two stop being disgusting and be happy for me? You can plan to grow old together later.” 

  
“Can  _ you  _ just go on a date with this bitch so I can stop hearing about it?” She is not planning on growing old at all and was actually thinking her liver would give out around forty, at which point her career would definitely be dead for several years because Hollywood aging standards are bullshit. Pretty brown eyes and a ridiculous amount of flowers everywhere and  _ feelings  _ are not part of the plan, so if Triss could stop doing whatever bullshit witchcraft this is and Yennefer can stop bringing it up, that would be fantastic. In the meantime, someone else can fall on the sword and tell Yennefer that she’s acting insane, because apparently Sabrina is also acting insane without meaning to, and this is just a giant shit show, isn’t it?


	6. How Not To Use Social Media: A Guide by Tissaia de Vries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendship is hard, penises are disgusting, and several people are exhibitionists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so Rita is rapidly becoming my favorite character in this and so because she's a horny mess, if you have a vote as to who, if anyone, I should throw at her, tell me.

Yennefer’s body is so soft against her own. Tissaia’s fingers wind into her hair as the woman kisses her way down her neck, determined to keep her in this exact spot for as long as possible. Her lips almost burn her skin, lipstick trails left in their wake like a brand. Violet eyes flit up to meet hers before Yennefer bites down on the skin over her collar bone, sucking over the rapidly forming bruise. 

“Tissaia, wake up.” She frowns. There’s something off about Yennefer’s voice, the pitch all wrong, and far too urgent for their current surroundings. She looks down to see that her hands, once wound tightly into raven locks, are empty. She blinks up at the blonde woman crouching over her before drifting off again and-Wait. That’s not Yennefer. What the hell is happening right now?

“Tissaia, I don’t care what you’re dreaming about that has you smiling like that, wake up  _ now. _ ” Rita shakes her shoulder hard, voice rocketing up from “concerned friend” levels to “I just encountered tax documents and they’re overdue so wake up and fix it please” levels, and Tissaia’s eyes fly open.

“Who died?” Besides her rather pleasant imaginings, that is. She’s uncomfortably warm, can still feel the heat of not-Yennefer’s hands on her hips, and this really is quite inconvenient. Tissaia is sure whatever this is important, but surely it could have waited five more minutes? Gods, she’s losing her mind. Since when did dreaming of movie stars come before literally anything productive? 

“No one. It’s just, well…I think Calanthe might be a little drunk.”

“And?” Calanthe was drunk on all days ending in Y. How was this worth waking her up for, or her problem in any way, shape, or form? 

“She may have written something. Something about you. And, er...Maybe I should just read it to you.”

Tissaia reaches out to take the phone, only for Rita, giant that she is, to hold it above her head and refuse to hand it over, the phone as out of reach as if it were in space. Given that Tissaia is lying on her back and about as likely to get up as a turtle flipped in the same position, this means she’s going to be dependent on Rita’s sense of mercy until her brain reboots. It’s just going to be one of those damn days, apparently.

“Rita. Give it to me?”

“That’s what she said!” Tissaia, the mature adult woman that she is, responds by smacking the nearest bit of Rita she can reach. “Sorry, but I’m not putting my precious child in harm’s way.” 

“That is a phone. Also known as an inanimate object.” And why she’d be a threat to a lump of circuits and plastic, Tissaia doesn’t want to know. But Rita is cradling her phone-baby in her arms and cooing in a way that is just disturbing, so Tissaia is going to stay very still and very quiet so as not to gain the attention of a crazy woman. Maybe she can even fall back asleep…

“Yeah, but you might do that thing where your eyes bug out and then you drop things. So you’re not touching him.” Great. It’s a boy. Someone go send out those ridiculous little announcement cards with the new addition to the family’s name.

“Read it, then. Please,” she hastily amends, reminded that technically she is crashing in Rita’s home to hide from reporters and she really should be encouraging the woman telling her that twitter has gone off the rails again, instead of just giggling over the chaos like she is usually prone to do. In Tissaia’s defense, she never was at her best immediately after waking up.

“The Democrats really ought to follow @TissaiaDeVries’s shining example of convincing the rich to give money voluntarily instead of embracing socialism. Clearly, if Senator de Vries got over her prudishness and did a better job rewarding donations, we could get rid of the national debt in a week,” Rita drawls, in a horrifyingly accurate impression of Tissaia’s least favorite female senator. That voice has an automatic effect, making her straighten up and attempt to look as intimidating as possible. This is not easy when dressed in Rita’s old college sweatpants and a tank top that is far too pink for her. “So. Are we going to murder her now, or do you have some kind of politician-only service to do that? I vote we contract this out, because I’m way too hot to go to prison.”

Shit. Tissaia’s little comment about Pavetta’s disastrous nuptials must have hit a nerve. Or several, because there’s no way that monstrosity was composed without the help of copious amounts of alcohol and possibly a copy of the dictionary, given the lack of Calanthe’s usual colorful vocabulary and her sheer audacity. Insinuating that a coworker ought to sleep with donors is usually heavily frowned upon no matter what side of the aisle they may be on. 

Why was everyone she knew an alcoholic? Did she need to start lobbying for a legal limit while on the Senate floor?

“Also, I think I deserve a raise for being able to translate that because let me tell you, she really can’t spell when she’s drunk. I mean how does someone expect ‘sofvialism’ to be readable? So yes, if we could just-”

“Rita. Where’s my phone?” It’s not under her pillow or on the bedside table, which means she probably knocked it onto the floor, and she’s not moving right now, so Rita is just going to have to help her out a bit.

“In my hand. Because I think maybe you’ve had enough twitter for today.” Rita is already holding it out, eager to be rid of her duty to be responsible for them both. Tissaia has known her long enough to know how this works. You get one warning about why something might be a bad idea with Rita so that once she enables you to do it, she can say it wasn’t her fault and that you were indeed warned and did it anyway. These warnings usually only come right before someone manages to get themself arrested or otherwise greatly inconvenienced, so Tissaia should really take this as the warning sign from the Gods that it is, but she’s groggy and quite annoyed and at this point, she’s focused on coming out of this little mess with as much of her dignity intact as possible. If that means engaging in a twitter war like an irate teenager, so be it.

“The woman who has had to declare bankruptcy twice in the last decade should avoid bringing up debt, and perhaps get more aggressive in finding a competent accountant.” She’s pretty sure that’s not too bad. It’s certainly rude, but it’s also true, and hopefully, in the time it takes for Calanthe to see it, her husband will have decided to cut her off and confiscate her phone, because Eist Tuirseach is a truly nice man with no convictions besides the one that states his wife is the light of all creation and tends to try to prevent her from punching people on a regular basis. If anyone can end this on the opposing side, it’s Eist, so godspeed to him.

“So, do you have a plan here, or is this the stress talking? Because we could get massages or something instead of trash-talking your opponents if you’ve committed to not being a workaholic mess today.” Rita should not be calling anyone else a mess, and it really says something about Tissaia’s recent behavior and her inability to throw stones at Rita through the walls of her glass house that she doesn’t mention that. Because yes, normally she’d be neck-deep in reading proposals by now, but instead she’s using social media and taking naps. 

It’s official. She’s lost her mind. It must be her hormones or early menopause or  _ something _ , but she’s lost her mind and now she’s acting like, well, Calanthe and Yennefer. Fuck.

  
  
  


“-crash a car through her house! What kind of bitch says that? I am going to kill her!”

“Yenna, please calm down.”

“Fuck that.” She will  _ not  _ calm down! Calanthe Tuirseach, regardless of how much Yennefer had approved of her previous suggestions for Tissaia, was a dead woman walking. Yennefer is livid. How  _ dare  _ she suggest Tissaia go around sleeping with people who aren’t her for money? Yennefer has money! Not enough to clear the national debt, which she had to google the size of, and oh shit, this country was fucked, but that wasn’t all Tissaia’s problem so Calanthe was clearly out of line.

And then Tissaia insults someone that isn’t Yennefer and Vilgefortz over twitter for the second time that day and Yennefer’s immature little heart skips a beat. Because she knows very little about this lady, but if one of them is that Tissaia hates her? Great! Senseless feud, here she comes. Because maybe Triss won’t get mad at her for insulting people “for love,” and Yennefer loves insulting people but hates upsetting Triss, so this is really the best of both worlds. 

So anyhow, it’s totally justified when she may or may not use her questionable photo editing skills and even more questionable sense of humor to stick Senator Tuirseach’s face onto the body of a toddler having a temper tantrum and posts it without asking anyone whether or not that would be considered “over the line.”

She is fairly certain she already knows the answer, but she gave the last fuck she had to give to the noble cause of worrying about Triss’s feelings so now she’s fresh out. Huh. Triss isn’t going to like this at all, is she? Well, maybe she’ll be distracted with some other client. Or Sabrina. And maybe if Yennefer just tweets a shit ton of other stuff she won’t see it?

This is a horrible plan. Truly a gem among her piles and piles of bad ideas. But seeing as she doesn’t have any better ones, it appears to be “tweet about how pretty Tissaia is” o’clock! She could write a whole book about that, if she had the time or attention span to write a book, so a few hundred tweets to bury that first one enough for Triss to not see it should be no problem. After all, deleting things is the same thing as admitting you were wrong, and not to be dramatic but Yennefer would rather die.

  
  
  


Tissaia’s life has gone completely and utterly insane. There is a small battalion of reporters staking out her home, she is hiding in Rita’s very cramped apartment on a weekend when she’s sure the other woman had plans that she insists “aren’t important” because she’s wonderful when she’s not being horrible, and she now apparently is engaged in a social media flame war with what appears to be half the conservative voters on the continent. She had no idea replying to a tweet could lead to this much havoc, but here they are.

“Here” in the physical sense is Rita’s living room, surrounded by takeout containers because Rita's fridge is full of beer and one singular apple, which is not a suitable dinner for two people or anyone at all. The mess is making her twitch, but Rita has instructed her to “leave it, you big OCD disaster” and it is her home so Tissaia will mind her rules, no matter how poorly conceived they may be. “Here” in the more metaphorical state that Tissaia is beginning to loathe with every fiber of her admittedly small body involves the urge to hurl her phone out a window and scream like a banshee.

She is not altogether shocked that people read Calanthe’s buffoonish suggestions. The woman’s social media presence is like a train wreck of undignified announcements and insults to prominent members of, well, everything, and like the aforementioned train wreck, it’s almost impossible to tear one’s eyes away. So yes. People read it, not shocking in the slightest. Their reactions, however, have introduced Tissaia to a section of social media she didn't know existed and wishes she could delete from her brain as easily as her browser history.

People she has never met, conversed with, or even heard of are crawling out of the woodwork to invade her inbox. There appears to be a very widespread fallacy that Calanthe’s little suggestion was not, in fact, a very insulting drunken remark, but the official announcement of an actual service one can hire, because the amount of people offering to “donate to the US treasury,” which is not exactly a thing you can even  _ do  _ unless you’d like to buy treasury bonds, in return for recompense of a rather sexual nature is just alarming. 

Tissaia may throw her phone just a little bit when a colleague she’s frequently referred to as the bane of her existence drops in to announce that he, too, would be very interested in meeting up to discuss things other than their parties’ respective platforms. This is accompanied by a photograph of a rather unwelcome nature, and the newfound urge to punch another human as hard as she can because  _ what is wrong with this man _ ? Her reaction is justified.

“So...Is everything okay-Eww!” Yes. Eww sums things up rather nicely. Rita holds Tissaia’s abandoned cell phone between two fingers, nose crinkled up in disgust. Tissaia ignores the clear invitation to take it back. She has no desire to see what new and exciting male idiocy she’s no doubt received in the last ten seconds. 

“How do I make them go away? I know there’s a way to do that.” There had better be something in settings or blocking or  _ whatever  _ to make this go away or she’s just deleting twitter and being done with it.

“Fine. I’ll get rid of them. But please tell me you’re telling his wife about this?” She motions to the photo from hell, which is still on the screen and  _ why is it still there someone make it stop,  _ and grins at Tissaia like this is totally fine and normal. “Like, you can see the damn ring in the picture. At least take that off first.”

The fact that Rita is critiquing the photo rather than attempting to banish it from whence it came is truly concerning. “I think he’s taken enough off. And I have no desire to go near his wife after seeing...that.” She has no desire to go near anyone ever again. It feels that any time she tweets anything, everything becomes a giant mess that she only makes worse on each attempt to fix it. 

“Hypothetically you could just post this.” And inflict  _ that  _ on more people? Not in a million years. She’s morally ambiguous, certainly, but she’s not a  _ monster _ . 

Rita continues as if she’s developed the ability to read minds, and oh that is a terrifying thought. “Don’t worry, we could censor out certain...bits. And then he’s embarrassed, his wife can drag him for cheating, and maybe the others will stop for fear of the same thing happening.” 

On paper, this sounds like a decent plan. That means that there has got to be a very massive catch, but her brain stopped computing at the thought of no more strange messages or photographs. So yes. She’s doing that.

Then Tissaia gets a terrible, awful idea. A truly heinous thought that could possibly be categorized as “deliberately sadistic,” “immoral to the extreme,” and “what is wrong with you today?”

“...How many of the other ones do you think are married?” 

“Let’s assume all of them because that’s your ‘I’m about to ruin someone’s life’ smirk and I missed it.” Warning sign number two! But apparently, she’s taken leave of her faculties, because she’s ignoring this one as well!

“Very well. I’ll just have to publish all of them. Is that allowed? Or possible, I suppose?” She really doesn’t know enough about this moronic site for this. 

“Honey, we will find a way! I’m going to go make some popcorn. Stay there, ignore your DMs for the next five minutes, and when I get back we can start making a list of shame. This is gonna be  _ great _ !”

Warning sign number three. But now that Rita has gotten this idea into her head, Tissaia is going to have to go through with it or her threats will lose any credibility they might have had, neutering her ability to control Rita’s more questionable instincts and causing the metaphorical end of the world. They can’t have that, so obviously Tissaia needs to stick to her guns. That’s her mental excuse, anyway, though the true explanation is a lot closer to the fact that she’s having an utter breakdown and wants to exert control over her rapidly unspooling life in any way possible.

  
  
  


Yennefer does not stalk Tissaia’s twitter for sloppily-edited dick pics from aging politicians. She stalks it for so many reasons, but that one? Fuck no! Now, if  _ Tissaia  _ wanted to post a shot of her lower body without any sort of clothing, she would be the first in line to drool over such a thing, because her legs are fantastic, but this is gross. 

This is really, really gross. And it appears that a lot of men have been gross because there’s a really long list of tagged usernames that Tissaia has announced might need a lesson in respecting women from any mother figures or female significant others they may have. 

Yennefer would bet Tissaia just accidentally caused a few breakups right there, though she certainly approves. Granted, she approves of havoc in general, and even more so when it’s caused by people she considers attractive. So that’s like two points for why this is a great thing, as compared to the hundreds of reasons why Tissaia really shouldn’t have done this. She knows this firsthand because she’s been in a  _ lot  _ of similar situations, and Triss wouldn't let her publish anyone’s username or photos. Although this may be because Yennefer would have been a hell of a lot less stern and mature about this and probably would have sent the uncensored photos to people’s friends and family instead of just telling them their behavior was “reproachable and undignified.” But still. Does Tissaia have a Triss? Could she DM Tissaia to tell her about Triss, or would that be super unwelcome given how many unwanted DMs she must have? Her desire to try to help the pretty girl is in the world’s worst boxing match with the twin needs to not piss Tissaia off herself and also to allow her to keep wreaking havoc, because Hurricane de Vries, as this little rampage has been dubbed by several newspaper twitter accounts, is kind of sexy and just fucking hilarious.

In any case, Yennefer has a bit too much spare time and a fanbase of millions and millions of people. So yes, she may or may not announce, after her afternoon flurry of “people I think are hot, oh look here’s a cool charity, Triss please stop scrolling here so your blood pressure doesn’t go up” tweets, she decides one more can’t hurt. Even if this is going to blow her original little photoshop mistake out of the water and probably cause a mess of angry emails from her agent. 

Specifically, she announces that some people should be driven off of twitter and posts Tissaia’s shame list. Because she is a horrible, horrible person and she’s proud of it. Technically this could even count as a good deed! Even if she’s mostly doing it because entitled men piss her off, and entitled men flirting with a girl she also likes flirting with are even worse.

Obviously, this catches on pretty fast, because a lot of her fans are  _ also  _ horrible people who hate entitled men and are delighted with the opportunity to grab their metaphorical pitchforks and torches to burn them to the ground. She will admit that by the ten-thousandth retweet in an hour that this has gotten out of hand, but oh well! She likes a little healthy chaos, maybe Tissaia will too and that will cheer her up because today must have been absolute shit for her. And granted, it is now close to midnight, so Tissaia is probably asleep because that’s what responsible people do, but maybe she’ll see all this in the morning and it will make her smile? Yennefer likes that thought very much. Tissaia should just smile more in general.

The logic to her next questionable choice is that if she’s already maybe lost her chance to make Tissaia happy again for the day because Tissaia probably decided “fuck twitter” and went to sleep, she may as well get aggressive and make sure her dear senator has a great start to her day tomorrow.

So yeah, she tags the woman in a particularly suggestive lingerie shoot, because that seems to cheer a lot of people up and also because she is not in the least bit shy about her body and likes the thought of Tissaia seeing it. She types that if Tissaia wants a distraction from mediocre men and women who clearly need to get laid themselves, she’s in DC. Or, well, she’s going to be in DC for the filming of a new project soon enough, and she’s happy to show up whenever it suits Tissaia’s calendar. Because that would help her relax if nothing else. Yennefer is a very dedicated woman, and if given the chance, she will make Tissaia forget her own name, much less those of her twitter annoyances. And then she’ll convince Tissaia to be her girlfriend and everything will be wonderful!

She only gets about ten seconds to bask in her own brilliance before her phone buzzes, alerting her that Triss Merigold is calling her. Shit. Why is Triss even  _ awake  _ right now? Triss never stays up past eleven!

“Hey, Triss! How are you-”

“Don’t you ‘hey Triss’ me. Why did I just get a notification that you’ve been posting photos of yourself in your underwear? Why, Yenna? Why did you think that was a good idea?”

Uh, because she wanted to seduce a pretty politician and thought this might catch her interest since Tissaia is a human with a pulse and hormones? “The love of my life had a coworker send her an unsolicited dick pic and I wanted to make her feel better.” And also because she thought it would be entertaining and she likes attention. Duh.

“Yenna. I think you’re maybe getting a bit obsessed here. This was cute at first, but I’m worried about you.” Of  _ course,  _ she’s getting a little obsessed. That’s what Yennefer  _ does _ , she picks something unattainable, and then she makes it happen by sheer force of will. Stardom, riches, being the hottest thing in the entertainment industry by twenty. And now she needs a new impossible thing to chase and decided she wanted Tissaia because she may or may not be an emissary from heaven and Yennefer hasn’t had a crush that didn’t fade within three days since  _ forever.  _ This is all totally normal! For her, anyway. And her intentions are good for once in her life, so really what's the problem?

“It’s called having fun, that thing people who aren’t you do more than once a month? And why are you up so late?” And why can she hear the guilt in Triss’s voice, the way she always can when Triss thinks she’s being a hypocrite? Is Triss getting “a bit obsessed”? Because if so, Yennefer is her best friend and deserves to know about all of it. Maybe they can have ridiculous crushes together and bond over them. Almost like they’re normal people!

“You can’t do that thing,” Triss huffs, voice an adorable whine that suggests she’s quite embarrassed by the current topic, and  _ oooh, Triss has a crush _ .

“What thing?” Yennefer does her best to not sound like she’s seconds from breaking into hysterical laughter, but it’s hard. There’s a person! Triss has a person! And Yennefer will get to tease her about her no doubt very wholesome love life and not get criticized for her far less appropriate twitter mess, and then she can threaten the new suitor until they’re terrified enough to do whatever Triss says for all eternity because that’s what she deserves, and everything will be amazing. She’s going to be the best maid of honor ever, and she won’t even get any strippers if Triss says no.

“The thing where you make a huge deal out of nothing. That thing?”

“I promise.” Not. She’s already thinking ahead to when she gets to haze the new suitor to make sure they’re good enough for her favorite person ever. Would threatening them with castration, or whatever the female equivalent is if this turns out to be a woman, be too much?

“I may or may not have been talking to Sabrina. But don’t think I’m distracted from why I called. What the hell, Yen?” Ooh, Triss is cursing. That’s...Actually really bad for Yennefer. Shit. Distract her! 

“Did she send you anything interesting?” She hopes not. Surely Sabrina has the sense to not surprise Triss with nudes. Except that she doesn’t, because she and Yennefer have about the same level of common sense. Which is why she’d be a horrible person for Triss to date, because no one could have room for two disasters in their life, so Sabrina is just going to have to fuck off because Triss is already Yennefer’s best friend and Sabina can’t just take her spot because she’s pretty-Nope. Okay. That’s the abandonment issues talking, according to her second therapist, and this is the time where she’s supposed to do...something, and then resist the urge to sabotage Triss’s life choices that she’s allowed to make because she’s an adult and amazing and Yennefer hates how squishy she gets for this girl.  _ Ugh. _

“What? No! Of course not!” She can all but  _ hear  _ Triss blushing. Point to her! Distraction is a go! Now she just has to avoid flying into a jealous rage because Triss is blushing over Sabrina and that sends all sorts of stupid, useless alarm bells ringing about a problem that she's been assured only exists in her mind.

“Are you  _ sure _ ? Because Sabrina is a fucking exhibitionist.” So maybe you shouldn’t date her! The three of them can all be such great friends if Sabrina backs off and isn’t in danger of like, replacing her, but any vision of Triss in a wedding gown has been replaced with the urge to go after Sabrina with a baseball bat. Because she’s being psycho. Nope, Yennefer, we’re not doing this today. She was going to be a  _ supportive friend,  _ damn it!

“So are you, apparently!” Yennefer flops onto her bed, the phone left to lie next to her face. She’s tempted to remind Triss that there’s no “apparently” about it and they already knew  _ all of that  _ but is then remembered that she’s actually trying to de-escalate things for once. She hates de-escalation!

Yennefer decides being a supportive friend can start right damn now, no matter how much her stomach roils at the thought. “So when are you going to ask her out? Or do you want her to ask you instead, because I can text her to get her shit together-”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ !” Triss shrieks, and for a hot sec, it’s like they’re dumbass teenagers at a sleepover instead of business associates to friends to whatever this weird-ass level of their relationship could be categorized as. She’d say sisters, but she hates her sisters and she’s never wanted to strangle Triss, so that doesn’t seem right. Whatever they are, she likes it and she  _ loves  _ Triss in a somewhat possessive, protective sort of way, and she likes teasing her. There. That’s good enough for now in the label department.

“Fine, fine. So you don’t want me to send you the photos of that time we were stuck filming together and she fell asleep in her costume?”

“Awww...” No. “Awww” should be reserved for like, kittens falling over or the way Tissaia’s nose scrunches up when people compliment her speeches in interviews. “Awww” is  _ not  _ for Sabrina, who is generally a terror. She sends the pictures anyway, because maybe if Sabrina stops seeming like some kind of over-sexualized ideal then maybe Triss will take a deep breath and slow down before Sabrina is herself and manages to hurt her, which is  _ not allowed  _ because while Triss is a smart goddamn adult who can date who she wants, those people are not allowed to break her heart or Yennefer will kill them. And while handcuffs are fun, orange isn’t her color, so she’ll pass on jail. Another upside to Triss being less enamored with the devil is that she’ll start going to bed on time again, and Yennefer can make stupid late-night tweets without an interruption. It’s the perfect plan!

“Oh my gods, she’s so  _ cute. _ ” What? No. No, Sabrina is not cute, she’s a demon and Yennefer would like her to burn her eyebrows off again! “Do you maybe have more pictures? Not that I want to be a creep! But like, I don’t know. Damn it. I sound like a weirdo.”

“You sound like you have a crush, and luckily for you, I have an excellent collection of Sabrina photos.” Specifically, every embarrassing one she could get her hands on. She’s pretty sure Sabrina has a similar but obviously smaller collection of pictures of Yennefer. She will be sending all of them Triss’s way. Surely  _ something  _ will convince her that Sabrina isn’t that great! And if it doesn’t, it will make Triss happy. This whole Sabrina and Triss thing and how she feels about it is a big, confusing mess, but she knows without a shadow of a doubt she wants Triss to be happy. So she’ll send her the entire album and hope everything goes decently, but buy lots of ice cream and booze in case it doesn’t.

She can hear Triss giggling and then typing furiously over the line, and Yennefer hasn’t said anything to make her laugh so clearly Sabrina must have over text, and she finds herself smiling at Triss's laughter even as her insides constrict. Who knew caring about people was this  _ hard _ ?


	7. Flirting. How Do I Flirting?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone, everywhere, needs to chill. And Tissaia is abandoned in her hour of need.

Rita wakes up at the ungodly hour of noon on a Sunday because her dearest friend Tissaia, whom she adores and isn't thinking about throttling  _ at all _ , calls her on her emergency cell phone, the one she doesn’t put on do not disturb after three am on weekends and which actually has the volume on. Only three people have this number, so she’s understandably a bit concerned when the damn thing goes off.

Well, the concern comes later. At first, she’s just highly disoriented. Because her Saturday night “U up?” text turned into an R-rated sleepover, and when she nearly fell out of bed naked because her third phone started bellowing about how they were all gonna die because at some point she must have considered that an appropriate ringtone, she was not pleased.

Neither was her companion for the morning.

Philippa Eilhart is the sort of woman who drinks black coffee only because snorting crushed caffeine pills was frowned upon in civilized company. Her glare could and has made grown men piss themselves and jump off balconies at thirty paces. She is mean, morally ambiguous, and Tissaia hates her methods as much as she respects her results.

She also has the stamina of a goddess, a tongue that should be classified as a national treasure, and the kind of bad girl vibe Rita tends to lose it over. So yes. She may or may not have called her up the second Tissaia decided to try to spend the night in her own home, to hell with the reporters squatting on her property. And then had a sex marathon, the marks from which will be on her chest and thighs for at least three to five days. She had  _ planned  _ on spending the morning in bed, having Philippa for breakfast before the woman had to run off and do something shady and quite possibly illegal, but now there’s an actual emergency and she wants to die. This whole  _ week  _ has been nothing but emergencies, and she just wants to get laid. Again. For the ninth time in the last twenty-four hours.

“What the fuck is  _ that _ ?” Philippa jams a pillow over her head to escape the noise, the other arm wrapped tightly around Rita’s waist in a way that feels fantastic but also prevents her from shutting off their surprise wake up call.

It’s Tissaia’s face on her screen, the contact image she’d selected of the woman passed out on her desk staring up at her accusingly. No doubt she wouldn’t approve of her current tryst, because Philippa went from being Tissaia’s protege to biggest headache in like a year, but  _ whatever.  _ She’s gorgeous, amazing in bed, and plays with Rita’s hair when she pretends to be asleep. Surely she’s capable of keeping  _ one  _ secret from Tissaia. Right? Right!

“What’s going on, Tiss? You in jail?” Please don’t let her be in jail. Rita does not have enough cash on her for bail money. Philippa might, and Rita would happily try to bribe her into giving it up because that sounds fun, but knowing it’s for Tissaia might make her less cooperative. In the meantime, Tissaia would probably manage to wrangle herself an army of felons and stage a jailbreak in order to find more hygienic surroundings.

“Please tell me she’s in jail.” Philippa is disturbingly awake given the ten seconds she’s been conscious, her chin resting on Rita’s shoulder and dark eyes trained fixed on the screen like a lion stalking a gazelle as if staring at the phone in her hand will give them answers faster. She’s really an impatient bitch, but she’s a  _ sexy  _ bitch so really, it’s all fine.

“I am not in jail. Just-Check Twitter.” Oh, gods. If she is awake right now because Calanthe fucking Tuirseach with her stupid cheekbones decided to start talking shit, Rita will kill her. Or just tell Philippa that Calanthe threatened her and watch horrible things begin to happen to the bitch because people who piss Phil off tend to have their careers ruined, and she may act like a stone-cold emotionless robot but she’s also protective as fuck over, well, anyone she decides she doesn’t hate. Rita is among this lucky few, and she occasionally takes copious advantage of that status.

“Whatever it is, don’t reply.” Please, don’t let Tissaia tweet anything. Like, it’s adorable that she’s so  _ bad  _ at de-escalating shit on twitter, but it’s also cutting into Rita’s personal life now. So. Tissaia needs to learn to tweet  _ now  _ or get Yennefer to teach her or whatever, but she has a very lovely lady kissing her neck that she’d like to pay attention to.

“I’m not going to reply! How the hell would I even reply to this, it’s  _ indecent _ !”

Indecent? Okay. Now Tissaia has some of her attention, though most of it is still on the way Philippa’s teeth scrape over that one spot she loves as her hands slide down to her hips...Right. Paying attention! Five minutes, Rita, no nymphomania for  _ five minutes _ !

“Should we call an ambulance? I think she’s going to finally have that heart attack she’s been due for,” Philippa husks in her ear before biting down, and Rita squeaks loudly enough that Tissaia  _ absolutely  _ is going to hear her. 

“...Rita. Who is that?” 

Well, let’s see. What did Philippa count as again?... Tissaia's political frenemy, ex member of the Redania’s most wanted list, and her favorite booty call. God damnit.

“No one. Who sent you indecent shit on twitter?” 

“Unless you’ve taken up ventriloquism, there’s someone in there talking to you.”

Rita turns to Philippa with the intention of shoving her out of kissing range before she ends up with her cover even more blown, but what ends up happening instead is she’s distracted by Philippa’s tits and that one owl tattoo on her ribcage that she likes to lick. It’s a long enough moment that Philippa is able to pluck the phone right out of her hands and push Rita back on the bed, climbing on top of her with a lazy grin. Granted, all that bare skin feels  _ wonderful _ , but also that is  _ her  _ emergency phone and she is  _ not  _ refereeing a catfight right now!

“Hello, Tissaia. How’s your morning indecency progressing?”

Rita can hear Tissaia choking on the other end, and she’d feel bad, but Philippa sitting on her is quite the view and her brain has powered off for the morning.

“Philippa Eilhart, give Rita back the phone  _ this instant.  _ You have no place in this conversation!” Right. Fuck. Phil hearing all about Tissaia’s daily gay panic probably ranks pretty high up there on the “Horrible things to happen” scale, in Tissaia's brain, and Rita feels terrible except this is totally just a bad coincidence and not her fault, right? 

“Counteroffer. You hang up, and I’ll be gone when she calls you back. We’ve got our own indecency planned.” She winks at Rita and trails her free hand down her chest. Rita decides that yes, she’s probably going to need to apologize to Tissaia, but in the meantime, she’s really outstripped her weekly capacity for rational thought and responsibility, so maybe she’ll let Philippa out of bed by dinnertime and maybe she won’t, but Tissaia can probably deal with something indecent herself. Right?

  
  


Tissaia hears the line go dead and resists the urge to scream. Logically, she knows Rita is free to spend her weekends with whomever she likes, and Philippa isn’t the  _ worst  _ person she could have chosen, but why, dear Gods, did she have to hear her little meltdown? Of all the people she dislikes looking foolish in front of, her protege turned criminal revolutionary anarchist is one of the very worst options. 

She looks down at the cause of her undignified morning panic attack. Yennefer’s twitter page looms back, the photograph still her most recent addition. That’s what it’s become in her head: The Photograph. The one that will most likely ruin her sanity. 

Yennefer has truly outdone her own audacity with this. The bathing suit was bad enough, but here she is in white lace, lying on her side and smoldering at the camera as if inviting the viewer to come and join her. Tissaia wishes she could, and that’s the entire problem because at the bottom of this attack on her hormones is a cheerful message announcing that Yennefer is coming  _ here _ and wants to potentially  _ see her _ , and Tissaia is, to put it bluntly, losing her shit.

It would appear that Twitter is also losing its shit, and the demands that she take the poor girl up on her offer immediately are pouring in. 

She will admit, as her eyes drift to Yennefer’s chest yet again, that she’s tempted. However, she has a reputation, one that is rather critical to maintain should she like to remain employed. The only answer to this offer, no matter how intriguing, is a very firm no. There is no flattering way for the media to interpret Yennefer asking “Hey, want to bang a celebrity?” over Twitter and her saying  _ yes. _ So she doesn’t have a choice. It doesn’t matter how lovely the girl might be or how easily Tissaia could sink into her eyes, this is not going to happen and that’s final! Tissaia can’t meet her due to her job, end of the story. It’s not like she’s afraid that if she lets this girl who has turned her life upside down with one tweet anywhere near her, she will melt into an undignified puddle and agree to anything she suggests. Because that would be ludicrous and isn’t the case at all. Of course not!

It’s not like she’s been the co-star in a truly alarming amount of Tissaia’s dreams lately. It’s not like several of them have involved not just copious amounts of sex, which she could have excused, but dates and weddings and domesticity. That would be insane.  _ She  _ would be insane.

She's going insane.

The problem is if Yennefer is going to be in DC, Tissaia isn’t entirely sure  _ not  _ meeting her in person will be an option. Not if she’s truly determined. Tissaia is a public servant, after all, and that does tend to involve being in public. So if between interviews and press conferences and her eternal quest to find espresso strong enough to make her feel less like a reanimated corpse, Yennefer decided to track her down? She’s fucked. She is so royally screwed. So Rita needs to stop getting screwed herself and then call her back because she is panicking heavily and needs Rita to tell her she’s being ridiculous so she can stop feeling as if the world is spinning off its axis.

  
  
  
  


Yennefer is early to filming for this movie her agent just _insisted_ she say yes to, no matter how boring Yennefer thinks it looks. Like, three days early. She certainly does not live in the nation’s fair capital, because she doubts she’d have much fun surrounded by lobbyists and serious people as she does with Triss and now to a lesser degree Sabrina, and has no desire to spend any more time than necessary away from the far warmer late November weather in LA. However, regardless on her feelings regarding DC as a less than ideal place to live, she is a woman on a mission so she is going to show up to filming way sooner than necessary and she is going to use that extra time to get the girl or get slapped with a restraining order, as Sabrina was so happy to tell her over text after her flight took off.

Yennefer hopes that there will be no restraining orders. Her thesis is this: she is very, very pretty. And if Tissaia wants her to fuck off, she will, but only if the woman is able to tell her that to her face without turning into a hormonal mess. And Yennefer would bet quite a large portion of her paycheck for this film on the fact that Tissaia isn’t going to tell her to fuck off, because Tissaia hasn’t told her to go away after any of the tweets or photos, and it’s been a full day since Yennefer posted the last one so she's had the opportunity. She’s been sticking to the sobriety thing, and she's been acting all socially responsible and actually enjoying making things suck less a little, and it’s all going to work out, okay? And if it doesn’t, the publicity has been fantastic, so there Sabrina. 

It is Monday afternoon, she’s in an Uber because she’s not allowed to rent cars after she wrapped the last one around a telephone pole, and she is hit with the realization that she isn’t entirely certain where Tissaia even is. Like, she knows where her  _ office  _ is, and she bets she could find her home address if she really tried, but that would be super creepy and then Tissaia would probably call the police. Plus, she wants this to be romantic or whatever, and stalking is not, unfortunately, romantic in real life, even if stupid romantic comedies like to suggest otherwise. So she is going to need some help!

Yennefer doesn’t really know many people who live in DC, nor does she know any of Tissaia’s friends who might be open to playing matchmaker, so it’s not like she can subtly ask someone for her location. This is her excuse for abandoning all pretense of acting like a sane, rational individual, and turning to her fandom for assistance.

She may, hypothetically, post a request to her fanbase on Instagram for them to keep her appraised of Tissaia’s whereabouts. She is not entirely certain whether or not Tissaia has an Instagram or checks it on any sort of regular schedule, so hopefully it will take her a while to see Yennefer’s less than well thought out life choices. She didn’t tag Tissaia for once, so hopefully this will-Nope. The hunt for Tissaia de Vries is already trending and being live-tweeted by Buzzfeed, who  _ did  _ tag Tissaia because they are  _ dicks.  _ Fuck.

Her phone buzzes, announcing that some lady from Twitter has DM’d her, and normally she’d ignore that but this person has sent her a photo. And granted, photos from internet randoms are bad, but this one is of Tissaia, dead to the world on someone’s couch and snuggling her briefcase to her chest like she’s gotten a bit confused and mistaken it for a pillow or another person.

This is not the sort of photo Yennefer thinks someone could have just gotten off the internet. She knows this because she has researched the fuck out of Tissaia, and she hasn’t found that one, and she is the  _ best  _ at cyberstalking so clearly that’s never been posted. Consider her intrigued!

She messages her new favorite human back, very curious as to where that picture came from and whether there were more of them. The response back is very enthusiastic, announcing that as Tissaia’s secretary she "has a small treasure trove of adorable photos," but that’s not important right now because she is going to "help Yennefer stalk her boss so Tissaia will stop blushing whenever she looks at her phone." 

She is  _ not  _ stalking her! She isn’t! But the idea of Tissaia blushing over something she did is very nice, and also she wants more cute pictures of Tissaia being all soft, so she’s not arguing with her new bestie. Because if this Rita lady wants to help Yennefer get Tissaia’s attention and is willing to perhaps tell Yennefer the next time she leaves the office, Yennefer will be very, very polite. She’s got to pass the best friend test, after all! Speaking of, maybe she should stalk this girl too, just to figure out how to charm Tissaia’s inner circle.

By the time Yennefer’s car drops her off at her hotel, she has learned Margarita Laux-Antille is possibly the least likely person to be Tissaia de Vries’ friend and confident, but that she and Yennefer are going to get along swimmingly. She can spot a fellow lover of chaos from sixty feet, and Rita’s twitter history consisting mostly of thirst tweets, drunken table dancing videos, and the occasional incoherent rant consisting of too many typographical errors to be written sober all suggest that she is exactly Yennefer’s type of person.

She is also blonde, gorgeous, and Tissaia’s “best friend,” according to her. But she’s not jealous! At all! Rita is trying to  _ help her _ , damn it, and the self-destructive urge to try to take out the nonexistent competition is pissing her off. This is why she doesn’t have many female friends. Or friends in general. She needs to get a grip.

By the time Rita contacts her again, Yennefer’s very expensive hotel room looks less like a neutral-toned spread in architectural digest and more like the remains of a thrift store after a bomb went off. Because she is going to look fabulous when she meets her future girlfriend, obviously, and that means trying on every outfit she owns several times just to make sure she still looks pretty in them. And then realizing that she’s going to be meeting Tissaia in public and perhaps she really ought to like, be somewhat inconspicuous because she doubts Tissaia would approve of a small mob of reporters crashing their meet-cute.

She thinks she’s at least managed to select a shirt that isn’t borderline indecent but still sexy when Triss texts her. 

Correction, when she notices Triss has texted her twelve times and called her twice. Apparently, the news that Yennefer is attempting to hunt Tissaia down in DC today may have spread a teensy bit more than she’d anticipated, and her fans are indeed attempting to map the woman’s movements as Yennefer requested. It’s sweet, but now she’s got a woman on the inside, so she doesn’t  _ need  _ several thousand people following Tissaia around and likely putting her in a less than amorous mood. It’s just that she can’t call them off without blowing Rita’s cover.

Triss does not quite approve of this explanation.

“Who is Rita, and why are you talking about her like she’s a spy?”

Because Rita is her double agent on Operation Romcom? “Rita is Tissaia’s…” Friend? Coworker? Possible amicable ex? It’s a very confusing relationship. “Future maid of honor. She likes me.”

“Future maid of-Yenna, what the hell are you  _ doing _ ?” 

“You’re the one who told me I should meet her!” And it was a great idea, because Triss is a genius, and is totally right. Courting Tissaia over twitter is such a stupid idea. In-person she can see her reactions in real-time, and maybe get to kiss her a little. This is a much better plan!

Triss huffs loudly into the phone. “I did  _ not  _ mean that you should harass her friends and tell your fans to stalk her. How did you even-Forget it. I don’t want to know your thought process here. Was alcohol involved?”

Uh, no. She’s stuck to her stupid little New Crush Resolution about drinking, thank you very much! “Fuck no? And her friend contacted  _ me,  _ Triss! She thinks this is a great idea, and apparently Tissaia thinks I’m pretty and-”

“Yenna. She thinks you’re pretty because you  _ are.  _ That does not mean you should do...whatever you’re planning right now. I’m not even sure what to call it.”

“A meet-cute.”

There is a long pause in which Yennefer can hear Triss put the phone down and let out a strangled groan of impotent rage. Once finished, she picks it back up and continues like nothing even happened, as understanding as ever. Because she’s an angel and Yennefer would fight god and the devil and all of Hollywood for her. “There is nothing cute about stalking!”

“It’s not stalking if the best friend helps!” She knows it’s bad that her excuse is “Technically I have an accomplice” and not “This totally isn’t creepy at all, what are you talking about?” In her defense, things have gotten slightly-Okay, more than a little-Okay, wildly fucking out of hand, and she’s not sure how she could bring the crazy train to a halt if she tried. And she doesn’t want to try. Like, mostly because this is  _ so much fun  _ and even if Tissaia isn’t into her, it was an adventure and raised a lot of money for charity and possibly got Triss laid, she’ll have to ask Sabrina about that, which are all good things. So. She’s not doing anything  _ that bad _ , right?

“Please just tell me you’re not planning on surprising her in public and, I don’t even know, proposing marriage before attempting to lure her back to your hotel room?” Yennefer, who had been planning exactly that minus the proposal, frowns and hurls herself onto the mass of clothing that was now her bed.

“Well, what would you recommend I do?”

“Besides apologizing and not meeting her?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Call Sabrina.”

“Huh?” That doesn’t sound like a way to win Tissaia over at all, so she’s a bit confused. Maybe Triss means that  _ she  _ wants to call Sabrina because she's dying to talk to her crush? “How is Sabrina, anyway? You two picked a wedding date yet?”

“Do not try to distract me right now. Hang up and call Sabrina about your weird plot to trick a Senator into dating you. I cannot advise you on how to win someone over like this, Yenna! I’m not sure how this doesn’t end in a restraining order, actually, but I love you and so instead of telling you that you’re insane, which you might be at this point, I am telling you to call Sabrina and let her enable you, or whatever she does.”

“You’re amazing and I want you to be my maid of honor.”

“That’s nice, dear. Now  _ call someone else. _ ” She hangs up without another word, but Yennefer can hear her laughing. She calls Sabrina. Because what else can you do when given a direct order by Triss?

“Did she get you arrested?”

“Hello to you too, bitch. What would you wear to a first date with your future wife who may be really pissed at you? We have about forty minutes until she’ll leave the office for caffeine, according to my new second best friend, and I kind of need her to not slap me for having my fans chase her all over the place today.”

Sabrina does not bother to remove the phone from her mouth before the deranged cackling begins. Yennefer waits impatiently for her to finish. She is on a time crunch, damn it! 

“Babe, you’re fucked.” Well, hopefully! Although the kind of fucked she wants to be is a little different from the one Sabrina means. Fuck.

“Obviously. Help me get un-fucked and I’ll send you a video of Triss in a bathing suit.” It is Yennefer’s solemn duty, as Triss’s best friend, to force her to take a vacation every once and a while. This has led to a large and adorable collection of selfies and shots of each other in various stages of forgetting cameras exist. The video in question involves Triss waking up from a nap she didn’t know she had started taking in a lounge chair on the beach, and she looks very cute in it. Because it is  _ also  _ Yennefer’s solemn duty to make Sabrina’s stony heart softens up a bit so she doesn't break Triss’s, so Operation Wife Material is a go!

“Deal. Get the best friend’s number, we are going to need a group chat for research purposes.”

  
  
  
  


Tissaia de Vries is fucking exhausted. Not due to her very stressful job, but because Yennefer Vengerberg is  _ here,  _ in the city Tissaia is also in, and she’s been approached by over ten people she doesn’t know who happen to be fans of the aforementioned menace desiring to know whether they’ve met up yet.

They are not meeting up at all! But it appears Yennefer doesn’t know that, because several less than reputable publications have been delighted to inform her that actually, she decided her entire fanbase should try to locate Tissaia so that Yennefer can hunt her down. 

Once again she wishes this bizarre courtship had begun under literally any other circumstance involving less press and more privacy. Hadn’t Yennefer ever heard of dating apps? Texting someone? Anything that didn’t involve the entire civilized world getting involved in one’s love life?

She is exhausted, and she wants coffee. Lots of it. And if she looks at her laptop one more time, with its forever-full inbox of emails and bill proposals with language so unwieldy the words start to swim before her tired eyes, she is going to scream. That is why she has fled her office in sunglasses and a hat, which the internet had informed her is an appropriate disguise for celebrities not wanting to be seen and hiked out to her favorite coffee shop in all of DC. The service is horrible and usually involves lots of cursing, the milk-foam tends towards tasting burnt no matter what, and the owner likes to scream to greet regulars, but not one person in it follows politics or knows who she is. Ah, the benefits of frequenting a food-selling storefront placed next to a cannabis dispensary. The only thing the customers care about is satisfying their need for calories, and the only thing the staff cares about is cycling through stoners as quickly as possible.

Also, the barista is willing to give her as many caffeine shots as she wants without lecturing her about her health. That is worth a great deal of poor-tasting merchandise and swearing. So here she is, in the slowest moving line in DC, as many in it have forgotten what walking is and also why they are even standing in a line, waiting to collect her second seven-shot espresso of the day and down the entire thing here so that Rita doesn’t see it and start buying decaf for the office again. She is a horrible, spiteful woman when she cares about Tissaia’s cardiovascular system.

“Spare a moment for an adoring voter, Senator?” 

Tissaia nearly drops her wallet. Yennefer’s sex voice has graced sound systems of cinemas all over the nation for years, and she would know it in her sleep. Somehow, the source is now inches from her ear and that is exactly as erotic as it was in the dream Tissaia had last night involving tying this headache of a woman to her desk. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Maybe she just somehow inhaled too many of the fumes emanating from the other customers at this somewhat seedy cafe and has a proximity high. Maybe this is a hallucination, from stress or exhaustion or both.

And yet when she turns around, there she is. Yennefer Vengerberg, in a crop top and jeans instead of some elaborate dress, hair in loose waves down her back.

It’s suddenly very hot in the coffee shop.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Vengerberg?” Tissaia grits her teeth and attempts not to add “and what demon decided to have you turn my life upside-down?” She collects her coffee and tries her very best to ignore the cell phones pointed in their direction. Yennefer seems utterly unbothered by the attention they’re attracting, violet eyes not leaving Tissaia’s face once. Not that this is flattering at all.

“Let me buy you dinner tonight? I have lots of questions about...promoting civic engagement?” Right. She would bet that Yennefer couldn't care less about anything of the sort. But she desperately wants to leave this very crowded space that reeks of weed and is full of people staring, because if she doesn’t get an adequate amount of personal space and also some fresh air, she is going to have an anxiety attack right here. So the most logical thing to do is to grab Yennefer’s wrist, ignoring how smooth the skin is while she tows the girl outside. Yennefer seems content to follow her as she maneuvers them over to a bench and drops heavily onto it, placing her hand on Tissaia’s shoulder in what is clearly meant to be either a comforting or flirtatious gesture but otherwise maintaining an acceptable distance. It takes Tissaia a couple of seconds to figure out how she wants to respond to this. On one hand, she is somewhat incensed and cranky and it’s all Yennefer’s fault. On the other, this is certainly better behavior than naughty photos and public declarations. So she should probably encourage it. It’s a compromise after all, and those are her entire job.

“Fine.” She leans back, massaging her temples and wondering when a dinner date with the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen became a bad thing. What is her life, these days? “I’ll DM you an address because if I give you my number you’ll probably post it.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but she just sounds accusing. Ugh. Why on earth does she act like this around people she considers attractive?

Yennefer seems unbothered by her somewhat questionable response, grinning down at Tissaia and by all metrics delighted with her very existence. “Bold of you to assume I’d be willing to let anyone else text you. I don’t like sharing.”

Tissaia can feel heat rising to her cheeks. This is not ideal. This is a mess. This is-This is flirting. She remembers flirting. Not how to do so correctly when she actually might like the person involved, but she does remember its existence. What does she do now? “You haven’t got anything to share, at the moment.” She has a feeling she’s still being too abrasive, but Yennefer is still smiling at her, and it makes her feel strange. She has the urge to just  _ keep saying things  _ because maybe at some point she’ll get it right, and she hates that a lot. Self-control is something she prides herself on, and the urge to act like a buffoon in front of an international celebrity so much younger than herself is not welcome, now or ever.

“I have a date with a beautiful, brilliant woman, even if she does ignore me on twitter. That’s something.” Right. This is the part where she compliments Yennefer back, she thinks. The prevailing urge is to flee the scene and scream, because she has a  _ date  _ with  _ Yennefer Vengerberg  _ and she doesn’t know what to  _ do,  _ but she knows she’s supposed to say something nice. 

“And what is it you want? Besides, apparently, my attention on idiotic social media platforms.” She leans in a bit, enjoying the way Yennefer’s wolfish grin gets just a fraction wider, the way her pupils dilate. Okay. This works too! Nice has never come easily to her, after all, but teasing people is much simpler and far more enjoyable. 

“Everything. But a date is a good start.” What did that mean? Everything as in  _ what _ ? Was this a proposition, or just more flirting, or is everything just a new term young people use for sex that she doesn’t know about?

“Right. Well, I have a country to save from itself. So I’ll see you later.” When in doubt, flee. Yennefer looks less than offended, rising gracefully to her feet before offering Tissaia her hand. She takes it before she can even process that her body is doing things without her permission, and then Yennefer pulls her up gently to stand beside her. They’re very close together, all of a sudden, and she can count the flecks of darker purple in Yennefer’s eyes. Part of her wants to. They’re still holding hands, and she knows she ought to release Yennefer before she can misinterpret the contact to be some sort of acceptance of her advances, but some internal rebellion in her brain prevents it. All resources have been diverted to admiring the way Yennefer's hair shines in the sunlight or the way her eyebrows arch as if challenging Tissaia to pull away first. She’s heart-achingly beautiful, and Tissaia may be very angry at her for the chaos she so carelessly leaves in her wake, but it’s quite difficult not to let her heart be taken hostage by Yennefer’s smile.

“I’ll see you tonight then, Senator. If only to apologize properly for bringing so many additional unwanted suitors into your life.” Yes, she definitely should apologize for that. Some of them were truly heinous.

“Mmm, and you assume that you yourself  _ are  _ wanted?” Her tone is teasing, because it’s very hard to claim she’s completely uninterested in a woman she’s apparently going out with tonight, but she wants to stop being the one left speechless for once. So there!

“Because you’re very pretty when you blush, and for a politician, you’re a horrible liar.” She is a fantastic liar when the person she’s lying to isn’t a sex symbol! These are extraordinary circumstances, and her nervous system is having extreme difficulty handling the strain already! Attempts at subterfuge are not in the budget right now. “See you tonight, dear.” Yennefer leans forward with a smirk and presses a kiss to Tissaia’s cheek before darting off, leaving Tissaia with a hand covering the lipstick stain on her face and her mouth open in shock. She will admit, Yennefer is very good at whatever game this is, and she doesn’t entirely mind losing when they don’t have an audience of several million people. Maybe one dinner won’t kill her. And maybe Yennefer will decide her company isn’t that interesting and move on afterward.

She is going to ignore how her stomach clenches at that thought. She is being rational about this. She will go to one dinner, she will dress professionally, and she will convince this inconvenient, wild, radiant creature to move on before Tissaia has a heart attack.

First, though, she is going to talk to Rita. Who will hopefully have some sort of useful advice. Sunday’s little...incident has shown that  _ her  _ dating life seems to be going just fine, even if her taste in partners is a bit suspect. Yes. She will go to the office, she will throw her woes into Rita’s lap, and she will let the other woman mock her for hours as is traditional as long as by the end of Tissaia’s humiliation they come away with an action plan.


	8. Dates for the Socially Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a date. What else needs to be said?

Yennefer, by some miracle, has a date with Senator De Vries, and Triss Merigold is living her worst nightmare as the phone rings off the hook. Around lunch, Yennefer posted the joyful little announcement that instead of slapping her, the senator had agreed to go to dinner with her, and since then everything has gone to absolute shit. She is, of course, very happy that Yennefer was not rejected or arrested. Really, she is! She’s also just tired of fielding calls from cranky agents and managers wanting to know what Triss is planning on “doing about this.”

And really, shouldn’t they know the answer is absolutely nothing? She tried to stop it before it picked up this much steam, she failed to contain Yennefer’s need to get whatever she wants the second it occurs to her, and the press is eating it up so the best thing she can do is stay away from her computer, maybe do some yoga, and try not to have an aneurysm. That would really be the best possible scenario for everyone.

Instead of that very sensible plan of action, one that would probably assist in lowering her blood pressure significantly, she is declining the third call from Renfri Creyden in an hour. What a political journalist wants with her is unknown, but for Triss’s sanity, she’s going to keep it that way. Part of her job is knowing who not to talk to under any circumstances, and if there is a list of horrible, troublesome, dangerous women to give quotes, Renfri is at the top of it and underlined several times.

Renfri is immediately replaced by the oh-so-familiar number for the tabloid Yennefeer likes to set on fire when she’s in a bad mood, and Triss gives up on her cell phone, putting the infernal thing on do not disturb. She then returns to staring at the google alerts she put on Yennefer’s name as the internet traffic associated with her misbehaving “client” and her senator steadily rises like the crest of a tsunami because watching that isn’t going to raise her stress levels at _all_. She has one guess as to what is causing the problem. Sure enough, when Triss is either brave or foolish enough to look at Yennefer’s twitter, also known as the bane of her existence, she’s asking the internet for help choosing outfits. For her date. Her date with a legitimate politician whom Triss actually respects.

None of the potential choices are what Triss would wear on a date, that is for certain. This could be because when Triss hears the word “date” she usually thinks dinner or a movie, something  _ normal,  _ and wears something that doesn’t resemble a bloody  _ corset.  _ Is she the crazy one? Do other people wear this sort of thing on dates nowadays, and she’s just a prude? Obviously the most logical thing to do is text Sabrina to make sure she won’t look insane reprimanding Yennefer. Right? Innocent until proven guilty, after all! It’s not like she just wants to text Sabrina for the third time in two hours!

She can see Sabrina start and stop typing several times to answer her, and it’s very stressful. Which is ridiculous. She hardly asked a question that could cause emotional upheaval. Right? Unless she came off as prudish or judgemental or oh gods, what if Sabrina thinks this is her dropping hints about  _ them  _ going on a date? She’d love that, of course, but only if Sabrina wants to, and this is just a mess.

Sabrina stops typing altogether, which is just terrifying until she decides to just call her instead and the anaconda wrapped around Triss’s heart chooses to show mercy and stop squeezing. Why is this so  _ hard _ ? 

She picks up on the first ring because while she knows she’s supposed to be pretending to be aloof or whatever according to the internet, playing hard to get is harder than anyone cared to mention so she’s not doing that. 

“Hi, baby. Miss me?” Sabrina’s voice is a sultry purr, and it’s lovely because Triss gets the feeling that this is a sign she didn’t just somehow ruin everything, but she needs to focus and that particular tone is not helping at all. Yennefer, probably having made a deal with the devil, has somehow convinced Tissaia to go to dinner with her, and Triss, as someone who loves her, needs to make sure that in her somewhat obsessive glee she doesn’t scare the woman off. There’s coming on too strong, and then there’s Yennefer, who is utterly undeterred when she finds something that she wants until it’s either hers or burned to ashes, and they would all prefer the latter never happen again after that one nasty incident involving a period drama about some war with Nilfgaard, a costar turned ex-boyfriend and some unfortunate issues with kerosene. Pyrotechnic special effects just seem to go haywire around Yennefer for some reason.

“I did miss you. A lot. But I need your fashion expertise right now. Not that I don’t want to talk to you normally! Just-Help.” This is horrible. She is horrible. She should just accept that she is going to die alone with like twenty houseplants, and Yennefer is probably going to kidnap Senator de Vries to forcibly marry her and then get arrested, and everything is a mess.

“You are just so cute.” Huh? Triss, who towers over most women in her life and considered playing on the boys' rugby team as an adolescent because so many young girls seemed to like the players, is not used to being “cute.” Nice and a good shoulder to cry on, or sometimes pretty if people are flirting with her, yes. Cute is a new one, and it’s rather amusing that Sabrina is the one using it because the woman strongly resembles a contented house cat most of the time and is really quite adorable when she’s not being terrifying. 

“...Thank you. Is Yennefer crazy, and do I need to stop her?” Yennefer is always on the verge of either genius or insanity, and Triss is fine with her role as the other woman’s self-control, really she is, but she hates the feeling of not knowing the “right” step to take. Hates it  _ so  _ much. This is not, for the record, something that was discussed when Yennefer hired her, and she probably spends more time as Yennefer’s professional stupidity wrangler than as her public relations representative.

“Yennefer is batshit insane, darling. You should know. And if someone wore that on a date with me, I’d drag them back to the hotel before they served the appetizers. Do with that what you will.” This is less than helpful. She has a feeling that Sabrina’s taste in date activities and the senator’s might be slightly different, and she does  _ not  _ need to be thinking about what Sabrina does on dates right now. Ugh. If someone wore that on a date with  _ her _ , Triss might forget how to speak for the duration of the meal and generally make a fool of herself. Now, someone as composed as Senator de Vries would likely have better self-control and not turn mute at the sight of Yennefer’s admittedly very impressive cleavage, but if Yennefer really wants to date this woman instead of just sleeping with her, it probably sends the wrong message. Right?

“Is that the goal? _ Yennefer’s _ goal, I mean. Getting her back to her hotel room and being done with it.” It wouldn’t shock Triss, because Yennefer embraced the era of hookup culture and dating apps with open arms and great enthusiasm, but she has also been doing a  _ lot  _ of talking about weddings, so Triss would like to cover all her bases, thank you very much. 

“That would make things easier for everyone, but no, I think she’s lost it this time.” 

“Attempting to form meaningful relationships is not ‘losing it!’” She got her answer. Yennefer needs to tone it down and go for “girlfriend material” rather than “flavor of the month,’ and deep down she already knew that she just wanted to talk to Sabrina, and now she just feels stupid. Because evidently this woman thinks dating means losing your mind and dates should involve just having sex as soon as possible, and that is fine! For people who aren’t Triss! So she should probably stop being so pathetic now.

“Oh no, darling. But planning your wedding to a face on the internet is a bit, well, fucking nuts. Please tell me you think that her wedding planning is a little early? She’s been asking me about dresses and it’s creepy.” 

...Right. Triss may feel a little bit nuts herself now. Ah, the joys of minor self-esteem issues and jumping to conclusions. Why can’t she just act normal?

“Uh, yes. Meetings. Meetings are good, so thank the gods that finally happened.” She cringes. Meetings are good, her ability to talk to people she finds attractive is just  _ not _ . She wants it to go right, really she does, it’s just...Ugh. 

“Mmm. You know, now that Yennefer is off to DC, I don’t have a partner in crime for this weekend.” 

“I’ll tell her to cancel her upcoming nuptials and come right home, then, though I’m surprised you’re admitting you miss her.” She’s also lying because Yennefer going out with Sabrina tends to lead to headlines and drunken break-ins at three am and Triss bailing her out of jail.

“...Oh honey no. I do not miss that hag. I want you to come out with me instead.” Wait. Oh, gods. Like, come out with her to a party, in which case she needs to buy an alcohol tolerance before Friday or Thursday or whenever celebrities think the weekend starts, which is early, or did she mean like a date. Is this a potential date?

“Yes! I mean, sure, I’d love to.” Play it cool, Triss, Do not start squealing! This may not even be like that. She may just want someone to drive her home or something.

“Oh, good. No need to borrow Yennefer’s corset, for the record, no matter how good you’d look in it.” Corsets. Sabrina. Mental images. So many mental images...Right. Focusing!

“I...Won’t do that?” Help. Someone, please send help, because she doesn’t know what to say to this and in fact has the urge to throw herself onto her sofa and shriek into a pillow because  _ holy shit.  _ She wishes she had Yennefer here to tell her what to do. She’s great at coming up with shit on the fly, even if it’s often morally questionable or overly sexual.

“It’s a date, then. When in the week do you stop being an angelic workaholic?”

A date. It’s a date. She has a date! And also a conversation to flail her way through. Oh shit. “Whenever you want.” No! Bad Triss! Very bad Triss! But Sabrina is laughing, and her laugh is very pretty, just like the rest of her is, and it makes the butterflies in her stomach decide to hold some sort of deranged pep rally. Triss was not a cheerleader in school, but she became rather enamored with a few of them, and has attended far too many of those idiotic events and will never truly get her old college’s fight song out of her head as a consequence.

“Good answer, darling. Normal people start the weekend on Fridays, right? I’ll pick you up at eight. I’ll have to figure out what people wear to convince beautiful women to date them instead of just coming home with them. I suppose asking Yennefer is out of the question, hmm?” Triss is perhaps having a small meltdown. It is not her fault. Because Sabrina apparently wants to date her, like actually date her, and they are going on a date and also she needs to save  _ Yennefer’s  _ date from Yennefer herself and she’s just sort of frozen for a few seconds.

She needs to respond. Somehow. Mouth, engage! “You don’t need to convince me.” Or not. If everyone would just excuse her as she cringes so hard her skull cracks, that would be lovely. That probably counts as coming on too strong or sounding needy or all those things you aren’t supposed to do, right? She always struggles with this part. 

“Be very, very careful or the next time I see you I’ll be forced to pin you to the nearest wall. You’re just too much for my limited self-control, I’m afraid, and if our little after-party is anything to go by, you’re not a sex on the first date kind of girl, so that ought to be avoided.”

Rest in peace, Triss’s brain. You had a good life, but now you have been brutally murdered and the perpetrator is too gorgeous to imprison.

Triss is doing a pretty good impersonation of a goldfish, mouth wide open and stupid, stupid whimpering sounds that might be considered attempts at speech coming out periodically. Crap. This is not good. Why can’t she just act like a normal person in front of her stupid crush? Not that she thinks Sabrina is stupid! Sabrina is very, very clever, and disturbingly manipulative and otherwise running circles around Triss in this conversation. And not to say having crushes is stupid, because she will die on the hill that love exists and is worth fighting for. It’s her, really. She’s stupid because this girl actually likes her, and her brain has taken that as a cue to just stop working, and she would like a replacement immediately. 

“Yennefer is right. You are a literal angel. I’ll see you Friday, darling. Try not to work yourself up too much beforehand, though I’ll happily help you destress.” The sex voice is back. She cannot handle the sex voice. Why is she so lightheaded and warm all of a sudden?

“Uh, right. Um, goodbye, Sabrina. And thank you. And I will see you Friday.” The phone clicks, signifying that she can no longer make herself look like a gibbering idiot, and Triss Merigold spends the next several minutes jumping up and down in her office like someone who has just, against all odds, scored a date with the most attractive woman on the planet without forming one single coherent sentence. She can’t even berate herself for that, because anyone would turn to mush with Sabrina propositioning them. Holy shit. She has a date!

She also needs to prevent Yennefer’s date for the evening from finding any alternate company and perhaps calling the police. Right. 

When she looks back at Yennefer’s profile, the woman has moved on to asking for florist recommendations, which is actually quite sweet, and Triss can feel her ridiculous grin get just that tiny bit wider until she notices that apparently, the ship name is trending again, the posters of Yennefer’s last romantic comedy have been edited so that the male lead’s face has been replaced with the senator’s and are going viral, and generally she needs a nap and to delete half of twitter somehow. She hates it when there’s like, nothing she can do to contain a situation, but at this point, there’s not much anyone could do unless they’d like to illegally take down one of the world’s biggest websites, and it just makes her feel terrible at her job. Well, fine, this may be beyond her paygrade, or anyone else’s, but she can be a good friend at least. Maybe if she convinces Yennefer that Senator de Vries is looking for her future first lady she’ll be inspired to cover just a bit more skin? Maybe? Because she gets Yennefer having the urge to make the beautiful woman soak through her panties on a first date, really she does, but at this rate, Yennefer will get kicked out of whatever restaurant they go to for indecent exposure.

  
  
  


As it turns out, Rita was less than helpful in assuaging Tissaia’s pre-date anxiety. She’s not sure what exactly Rita’s definition of a date is, but after the third time the woman had suggested that perhaps Tissaia ought to bring along a strap-on and that actually, none of Tissaia’s clothes will do and she should just borrow something appropriate from her, Tissaia hung up. She is not a prude by any means, but she is not throwing herself at this woman and she is not leaving the house in a dress that appears to be painted on when Yennefer’s pre-date tweets have summoned a small horde of the press. It’s just not going to happen! 

She is wearing a suit instead, because maybe if she covers enough skin everyone will realize this is not scandalous at all and just  _ go home.  _ There’s a goddamn war to the south going on. Why on earth do people care about her right now?

So yes. She shows up to the very upscale, press-free restaurant in a less than bubbly mood, only for her carefully detailed plan to let Yennefer down easy and keep things extremely platonic to shrivel up and die upon contact with the enemy. Or, in this case, with Yennefer, who decided that she was going to show up looking like some sort of lust goddess descended from the heavens. Tissaia is very, very quiet as Yennefer grabs her arm and escorts her to their table because she can’t think of anything she might conceivably say besides “Are you absolutely positive that you are indeed real and not a product of my imagination?” 

Their table has two booths instead of chairs, because of course it does, and Yennefer decides to sit next to Tissaia instead of across from her like a normal person. Tissaia is so very, very grateful that no one seems to be filming them, because Yennefer has decided to take this opportunity to drape herself over Tissaia and generally cause her heart rate to reach dangerous levels. She seems to brush against Tissaia with every movement, leaning over just a bit too close to tell her how glad she is to see her. It’s lovely, really, but Tissaia is starting to understand what it feels like to be a laptop dropped in a swimming pool. 

Yennefer’s chosen attire is not helping the general situation. She is, to Tissaia’s relief, not wearing anything that looks like it was Rita approved, but it is very close to getting there. It is black because it appears that Yennefer is allergic to colors and with how good she looks avoiding them no one is going to comment on it except for the occasional very brave, very stupid fashion blogger. The neckline doesn’t show Yennefer’s cleavage so much as throw a parade celebrating its existence, and while Tissaia is trying her absolute best to keep her eyes above neck level, the height difference between them is  _ not  _ helping. The hem stops at a bit above mid-thigh, and every time her hands drop into her lap, Tissaia finds herself accidentally making contact with the bared skin. Which is enjoyable, but not sending the right message at all, and she’s never felt quite so cornered in her entire life. Not even during her interview with Renfri. This is ludicrous, and her hormones need to calm themselves this instant!

She turns to say something, anything, only to notice that at some point in the thirty seconds they’ve been seated, Yennefer has managed to unbutton her suit jacket without her noticing. It falls open at the slightest movement, and her companion looks incredibly pleased with this development, reaching out to toy with the unfastened button just to torment her. There can be no other reason.

“You realize this is a date and not a press conference, right? You won’t get arrested for public indecency if you’re not wearing five layers at all times.”

“This is…” Not a date. It’s not a date. Say it! “I am not wearing five layers!” She is wearing a jacket and a shirt. That is two. She is not excessively dressed, and she will not cede the point no matter how many people insist she is mistaken.

“Is this how all politicians are without their speechwriters controlling their every word? Or do I just need to make you really angry to get you to do that sexy ranting thing?”

Sexy ranting thing. What on earth? She doesn’t have a “sexy ranting thing,” nor does she have any idea what Yennefer is referring to!

“I write my own speeches, and I have no idea what you might be talking about.” She does her best to keep as much control over her tone as possible and not sound like she’s been inhaling helium, but it would appear her vocal cords have other ideas and the pitch of the last part of her sentence rockets up into the stratosphere. Fuck.

Yennefer raises her perfectly-sculpted eyebrows and leans her head against Tissaia’s shoulder. Her hair is very glossy and it looks so soft, but Tissaia is the adult here so she’s not going to touch it. She doesn’t want to do that! “You know, that thing you do with that Stregobor asshole every time you see him?”

Right. That. Tissaia would have considered that “insulting an idiot,” and not “sexy ranting,” but it would appear that the woman now refusing to remove herself from Tissaia’s person has unusual tastes and very questionable observation skills.

“You are not Stregobor, and if he appears in this restaurant, I will leave immediately.” She has no desire to insult, embarrass, or discredit her present company. If she did, they would not be on what could, hypothetically, be classified as a date. So obviously, she will not be acting like  _ that _ , even if Yennefer seems to find it attractive. Which she shouldn’t. That’s actually somewhat concerning.

“Mmm, well, I’m sure I’ll manage to wind you up somehow. You’re hot when you get annoyed.” Right, well then she must be absolutely irresistible at all times when at work. 

“Is that why you’ve chosen to spend the last few weeks harassing me over twitter?” It wouldn’t be the worst way she’s ever been flirted with, but  _ really?  _ If she can spend this evening convincing Yennefer to choose a different method,  _ any  _ other method of courting her, this will be a success.

“Is it really harassment if both people are having fun?” What? This was the opposite of fun! Meetings with Renfri Creyden and press sieges and strange men in her inbox are  _ not  _ her idea of fun!

“You have a very strange definition of that word, and it is one I do not share.” She doesn’t mean to sound so angry about the drama Yennefer has caused her, even if she is, because one doesn’t try to guilt-trip beautiful young women one ends up on dates with. It just isn’t done. But no, instead Tissaia’s usual mask seems to be tearing at the seams as Yennefer cuddles up to her because everyone has weaknesses and her fondness for pretty women just happens to be one of Tissaia’s.

Yennefer seems utterly unaffected by her most recent inability to play nice, a somewhat malevolent smirk on her lips. Her eyes are darker in the dim light of this restaurant, and they glitter with ill intent. Tissaia can feel her throat constricting with anxiety. This is probably bad. If she’s managed to enrage this girl, her week is likely going to get a whole lot worse once Yennefer storms out and starts tweeting about what a bitch she is when flustered, which with Yennefer appears to be always. Should she apologize? Probably, but for what? Claiming she’s not enjoying a small battalion of reporters stalking her? Who  _ would  _ enjoy that?

“I guess you’ll have to let me make it up to you, then. If you really haven’t been enjoying this.” Uh. What? It’s very, very obvious what Yennefer has in mind, but she’s not quite sure how they got from “no, I do not appreciate being an accidental celebrity” to “there’s a beautiful woman practically climbing into my lap.” And for the love of all the gods, is she supposed to make her get off? They  _ are  _ in public, but Yennefer all but on top of her is rather nice, and really, even if someone saw, could this situation get any worse?

Yes. The answer is yes, and Tissaia is ignoring that glaringly obvious fact. Their waitress gives them a very funny look when she shows back up with food she doesn’t remember ordering and their thankfully non-alcoholic drinks because drunk Yennefer, from what she’s seen, is terrifying. This funny look is merited because she knows that they look like a pair of lovesick teenagers caught making out in the back row of the cinema, but she will insist this is not her fault at all. She is painfully aware that this timely arrival has saved her from having to reply to a very delicate offer, so thank you, beloved random employee.

“Did you like the pictures, by the way?” This is whispered into her ear the second Tissaia’s temporary savior departs for the kitchen, and Tissaia nearly chokes. The answer is yes. Of course, the answer is yes! But she’s not saying that, for reasons! “Just for the record, that last one I sent? I took a few...Outfits from that shoot. I’m wearing one of them right now.” 

Tissaia is not usually one for gratuitous swearing. But in this case, exceptions must be made, because there is no way to describe her current mindset without the copious use of the words “Oh, fuck” as that little announcement makes the poor woman forget how breathing works, and in fact whether or not she was once capable of such an action. Because the thing is, Tissaia knows exactly which photoshoot Yennefer is referring to, and not just that one excerpt she’d posted. She went through every single photo in that one after a very long, very disastrous day, and it’s one of her guiltiest pleasures.

She may have saved a couple to her personal phone.

She may or may not have masturbated to them.

And all of these facts refuse to stop insisting to be acknowledged as her brain struggles helplessly to formulate a suitable reply. Tissaia may be the queen of controlling conversations and wringing concessions from the uncooperative, but this ability very quickly departs once she leaves work. And this is most certainly not work. This is a total mess and she feels a headache coming on.

“You need to behave this instant.” Because otherwise, she is going to run out of blood flow to her brain as it is redirected elsewhere, and that would be a very unfortunate way to die. And before Stregobor, at that? Not happening.

Yennefer does not behave this instant, or at all. Instead, she grins down at Tissaia like this is the greatest development she could have hoped for and grabs Tissaia’s hand, dragging it forward until it rests just higher than is socially acceptable on her thigh. Right. Yennefer and behaving do not appear to go together at all, and that was a mistake she will never make again. Granted, the flirtation is flattering to say the least, because this is a very charming, extremely attractive woman who’s decided to pursue her, but the rising urge to kiss Yennefer right here is not acceptable in the least, so she needs to stop being sexually appealing now.

“You’re even sexier in person, just so you know.” Yennefer’s fingers thread through her hair and Tissaia’s head drops against her before she can stop herself. She doesn’t try to move away. This feels wonderful, and she’s been more than a bit tense due to this entire overdramatic saga, and so when Yennefer starts talking about how fun it is watching Tissaia make her insufferable coworkers look stupid and effectively petting her, she may surrender to the fact that attempting to scrape her dignity off the floor is futile and she should just let herself enjoy this. When’s the last time that happened, after all?

“They really do wear you out, huh? If I took you home I think you’d just fall asleep.” Tissaia, who may or may not have her eyelids half shut at this point because her sleep schedule is nonexistent and so is her ability to relax on a normal day, can’t be bothered to argue. Though what? Yennefer is not taking her home, tonight or ever. It’s not like that!

“If I invited you back to my hotel, would you come? I know you’re a classy girl and probably won’t let me bend you over a table quite yet, but at the very least you look like you could use a hot bath and a back rub.”

“The press would make assumptions.” What Tissaia feels as though she should say is “Are you utterly insane, I am not letting you do any of those things, unhand me at once.” But the thing is, she does not actually want to say that, and while she is willing to stand up and do what needs to be done for the greater good on many, many occasions, this is not one of them. She’s not trying to save the world here. She is on a date. So perhaps she will take Rita’s advice and “chill the fuck out.” 

“What if I snuck through your window, then? No press that way.” The fingers in her hair tighten until Tissaia can’t move, and then Yennefer’s free hand is climbing up her leg. Which feels great, but is so not appropriate. She bats it away, because she does still have a reputation, and does her best to ignore how terrifyingly effective Yennefer’s pout is when she doesn’t get what she wants. Dear lord. If this woman were to somehow worm her way into Tissaia’s life, she’d be utterly doomed, and somehow that thought is less alarming than it should be.

“That is called trespassing and it’s still illegal. I’m afraid you’ll have to entertain yourself tonight while I catch up on lost sleep.” Yennefer had insisted on paying the check because according to her, Tissaia can get it next time, and it’s ostensibly time for them to part, even if they don't technically have to. Technically, she could grow a pair and do something to extend the evening, but she’s a bit overwhelmed and panicking over the fact that her brain doesn’t work around this woman, and generally, her tendency to hide from whatever is causing her emotional upheaval and shove it away with both arms is winning out over anything else. Because of course, she’s making this far harder than it has to be.

“Dream of me then. Because I will find a way to keep myself amused, and while I’d rather have the real thing, my hand will do in a pinch.” Yennefer pulls her in to kiss her cheek again, and then she’s gone, leaving Tissaia wondering what the hell happened. Because unless she is hallucinating now, Yennefer fucking Vengerberg just kissed her. On purpose. And quite possibly asked her on a second date that Tissaia wasn’t quite able to reject out of blind panic and cowardice.

Some tiny, far too soft part of her rejoices for Yennefer’s persistence. Because perhaps, maybe, she likes bantering with this woman, even if half the time what comes out of her mouth is mind-bogglingly idiotic. Maybe she likes the way Yennefer’s perfume lingers on her jacket. Maybe she’s willing to put up with what seems like every horrible journalist in the state hounding her incessantly if Yennefer smiles at her again. Maybe! She’s still figuring it out here.


	9. The Coronation of the Fandom Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia has a minor breakdown, Yennefer has impulse control issues, Sabrina needs to shut the hell up, and Rita catapults herself into internet stardom.

Yennefer doesn’t bother to move the remains of her outfit search before hurling herself face-first into her hotel room’s bed, most likely smearing her lipstick on the very white blanket, before shrieking into a pillow at the top of her lungs. She’s yet to decide whether this is from joy or frustration. 

She should be overjoyed. Against all odds and the worries of pretty much everyone she’s ever met, her evening went rather well. Tissaia actually showed up, while whether she would had indeed become a concern when Sabrina started joking that maybe she wouldn’t, even though Rita, the angel that she is, assured them both Tissaia would attend if she had to hogtie the woman and carry her in. At no point in the evening did Tissaia storm out and decide Yennefer wasn’t someone she should be spending time with, which as much as Yennefer hates to admit it, was a consistent worry that tends to pop up before just about every date she’s ever had with people she likes as more than sources of good sex. Best of all, she got a kiss! And a second date! So really, that went perfectly. The only teeny tiny issue is that Tissaia isn’t naked in her bed right now.

Actually, the bed is a bit of a disaster, and it may be for the best that Tissaia is not bearing witness to her pre-date outfit indecision because she seems like kind of a neat freak from the seventy-five photos of her office Yennefer found on the internet. Maybe the desk instead? It looks less than comfortable, but having Tissaia on it, thighs wrapped around her waist to pull her closer as Yennefer undoes the buttons on her shirt...That’s a thought. The bathtub also looked rather promising, but none of those objects will be seeing any non-intended use this evening, because Tissaia isn’t  _ here.  _ Why the fuck did Yennefer leave without dragging her into the car with her, again?   
  


Right. Because Triss’s lectures about boundaries and letting women warm up to you and also convincing them you want to be their girlfriend and not just a random hookup are sinking in. Which is probably good, but at this one particular moment in time, she’s a bit annoyed. Just a little. But still. She went on a date with Tissaia de Vries, nothing went horribly wrong, and she is tempted to do goddamn cartwheels in this room, regardless of how bad of a decision that would be. Any sort of acrobatics would likely lead to injury with her somewhat impractical choice in footwear, because no way was she going to let Tissaia use high heeled shoes to be taller than her, and also due to the fact that there are very likely people below her who are now wondering what all those thumping noises are and possibly calling the front desk to complain, and she might not want to aggravate them further if she had any sort of respect for others. Well, fuck those people, because she is  _ happy  _ and  _ excited  _ and also really fucking horny, dear gods this is terrible, but still. Yay, date! Not yay, sexual frustration, and an empty bed!

Her thoughts, guided by her errant hormones, travel back to the way Tissaia had felt against her, the way her voice had deepened into a husky groan whenever Yennefer got particularly close. She’s positive that while she may be more than a bit uncomfortable right now, Tissaia is infinitely worse. Apparently, she “desperately needs to get laid, please fix that,” according to Rita. And that did not happen tonight, so she let down her new friend and also Sabrina, who is not her friend, because of blah blah blah boundaries. Boundaries can kiss her perfectly-formed ass and fuck the hell off because right now she hates them. She will apologize to boundaries for this tirade if Tissaia agrees to date her, though, because Triss was the one endorsing them and she’s usually right, except when it comes to picking potential romantic partners. Fucking Sabrina…

Anyway! It is all but a Yennefer Tradition, whenever someone manages to resist her advances, to toy with that person until they snap and drive to her house at three am. She has no doubt that Tissaia is not going to do that because she will bet Tissaia is the sort of person who actually is asleep at three am, but still. She is legally, ethically, and egotistically obligated to send Tissaia a little “here’s what you’re missing right now” gift. She would have already done so if she had the woman’s number, but in the excitement of having her up close, she’d sort of forgotten about the practicalities and gone straight for cuddling and trying to make her crack a smile. She’s just...So hot, and Yennefer is willing to admit that her desire for the approval of people she considers worth liking and or fucking was too strong. So texting her anything is out. That’s okay because twitter is like their  _ thing  _ like some couples have a special restaurant or stupid phrase they’re always saying back and forth.

She will stop making fun of those couples with Sabrina if she ends up becoming one with Tissaia, she  _ promises _ . However, if that doesn’t happen and Sabrina keeps being super mushy with Triss, the mockery will multiply. This she will swear on her asshole father’s grave. If she is lying may the bastard rise again.

She may not have Tissaia’s number, and she  _ just  _ got through telling Yennefer that being chased around by psychotic reporters after a viral tweet isn’t enjoyable, so Yennefer will absolutely learn from her mistakes and keep this in Tissaia’s DMs. 

The photos she’s deciding between sending probably aren’t the sort of thing she wants on the internet anyway.

  
  
  
  


Tissaia wakes up with a dreamy smile on her face, the ghost of a kiss on her lips, and an obnoxious burn between her thighs. It takes her all of two seconds to blink herself back to reality, realize that she was not actually sharing her bed with Yennefer but dreaming again, and then notices that she’ll be starting her Tuesday with thousands of twitter notifications, ten calls from her PR team, and over thirty texts from Rita. She sighs. She really, really thought she’d been clear about “do not cause insanity over social media, I don’t like it.” 

With shaking hands, she opens the webpage and stops short. Because Yennefer, in her infinite impulsiveness, must have informed this Sabrina Glevissig woman who has ruined her morning with one tweet that since Tissaia neglected to offer Yennefer her phone number, she should really check her DMs. This new thorn in her side would also like to know, since Yennefer had been musing to her about it at an ungodly hour and it was “getting fucking annoying,” would a spring wedding work best so as not to interfere with election season? 

Tissaia has some ideas about other things that are “getting fucking annoying.” Like this exact situation. Though she has to admit, this time it was not Yennefer’s fault. She did not say “never tell your idiotic, impulsive friends anything.” She will remember to do so at the earliest possible opportunity, though, because this is ludicrous.

On the subject of what may lie in wait like a predatory animal in her messages, Tissaia is terrified to check. Thankfully, she also knows she can’t ignore that tweet, because looking at how the situation has developed when left unchecked, it’s not like she could make it much worse at this point, and that means it will make a suitable distraction for the next five minutes. She replies in the only way she can, by politely thanking Yennefer for buying her dinner, and saying she’s very flattered by the offer of immediate engagement but unfortunately is going to have to decline. After all, it would be exceedingly irresponsible for her to get married when spring is when Congress tends to have its greatest surges of productivity because people are more focused on actually doing things than campaigning.

This is, of course, a lie, because Congress never has its shit together ever, and the last time she remembers them doing anything productive was around four years ago. Sometimes she really, really hates her job.

She ignores any mention of DMs because she would like to be able to get something done at work today, and that does mean not having her brain cells die a fiery death after seeing whatever she’s been sent, which she’s positive is not appropriate at all.

That was four hours ago. She is sitting at her desk, Rita balancing an increasingly large stack of files on her head in a way that does not even remotely resemble working, and Tissaia can’t reprimand her because she hasn’t been much more productive. Apparently, thinking about what Yennefer might have decided to send her after their date is even worse than seeing it. Or is it? That’s the entire problem, really, because she isn’t sure whether to look or not to look will damage her ability to do her job more.

“So. Did you decide to start smoking again, or did you take up sleepwalking as a hobby? Ooh, did Yennefer keep you up all night, and that’s why you’re a zombie?” Tissaia groans at the overly-sarcastic tone and Rita’s complete lack of interest in doing their actual jobs. Today is just a mess, isn’t it? “Oh wait, I know that’s not it, because instead of letting the most gorgeous woman ever rock your world, you went home  _ alone, on purpose.  _ And then texted me about it, interrupting  _ my  _ date. Note how I took mine home like a sane person.”

“Are you done?” Please be done. She’s not sure how many more times she can handle this “Are you insane, why didn’t you propose?” lecture. The mention of Rita’s sex life, and the knowledge that this sex life apparently involves Philippa fucking Eilhart, is not helping in the least.

“No, I’m not. She is talking about a wedding. And you’re doing paperwork instead of buying an engagement ring, which is just criminal. Have some fun, babe! You can act like you’re dead already when you’re closer to nursing home age, okay? Actually no, I forgot you’re already ancient. Just live a little, okay? And check your DMs. I wanna see whatever she sent you. Unless she’s naked. Actually, especially then, but I know you won’t show me because you’re mean.” 

Tissaia is fairly certain Rita is joking, but she still feels herself bristling a bit. Obviously, because she’d never share someone’s photographs without permission and is offended at the very idea, and not because she wants to keep any images of Yennefer like that all to herself. Not in the slightest.

“Tissaia, pick up your phone or I’ll log into twitter for you. The suspense is  _ killing me _ . Nothing exciting ever happens and then you go on a date with a movie star and you’re making me do work, which is really unfair. You are a terrible friend right now,” Rita whines as if she is not also being terrible by reminding Tissaia of the cell phone burning a hole in her desk that she does  _ not  _ want to look at. “Entertain me!”

“If I look at whatever this is, will you at least  _ attempt  _ to be somewhat productive today, instead of…” She gestures vaguely towards the house of cards Rita has constructed from Tissaia’s business cards over the course of their conversation. “Whatever it is you’re currently doing.”

“It’s a deal! Now respond to your girlfriend, she’s getting-Er, I think she’s probably getting impatient? Because that’s a logical thing that it would be normal for me to know.” Rita bounces up and down on her swivel chair like a child on a sugar high, and Tissaia finds herself feeling very, very nervous. That look in Rita’s eyes tends to lead to nights in the county jail’s drunk tank and headaches for Tissaia. She doesn't like it at all, but she’s too wound up to dissect what new and exciting treachery could be causing her to act so strangely. Or talk like she’s finally lost her two remaining brain cells to alcohol poisoning. Does she need to get a breathalyzer in the office? Because that can’t be healthy.

To avoid meeting Rita’s terrifyingly intense gaze, Tissaia takes a fortifying breath and opens her cell phone.

The next moment, she is on the floor and spluttering curse words. She can feel what seems like her entire face turns an unbecoming shade of pink, head buzzing with the unexpected blood flow until she feels the world going fuzzy as if she might just faint. Because Yennefer is eerily good at taking selfies. And Rita was right, she is not wearing anything but what the gods oh so generously gave her, and it is a  _ lot _ .

She’s having a stroke. She’s put herself under too much stress without taking up jogging or veganism, and now she’s having a stroke just like that quack of a cardiologist told her she would, which means he’s not a quack and she owes him an apology for telling him he was a buffoon.

“Uh. Are you okay? Should I call an ambulance, or cancel your meetings, or-”

“You will do no such thing! Now help me up.” Rita bounds over like the overly excited golden retriever she resembles, not so gently hauling Tissaia to her feet and dropping her back into her seat the second the heels of her shoes touch the floor. She lands with a huff, fist curling protectively around her cell phone and the photograph that might legally be able to be classified as an almost-successful assassination attempt.

Her very near cause of death comes with a cheerful message informing her that there’s no need to reply, given that she probably has no idea how to respond to this sort of thing, which is so very adorable. But if she’d like to let Yennefer take her out again, that would be a suitable thank you.

Tissaia throws her head back, squeezes her eyes shut, and lets out a very undignified shriek. She’s not entirely sure why this turn of events is causing her so much distress. Maybe it’s because Yennefer is correct, she has no idea how to respond, and while going out with her again was sort of unavoidable after their dinner, she now has no idea how she is ever going to be able to look at Yennefer without popping like a balloon from her blood pressure hitting maximum levels. Maybe it’s because apparently, Yennefer has a small posse of insufferable young women she tells about her photo sending schedule, who are less than likely to curtail their posting habits at Tissaia’s request than Yennefer was. Maybe it’s because Rita is standing in front of her desk with a horrifically smug look on her face, doubled over with the force of her laughter that is no doubt at Tissaia’s expense. It’s been a very, very stressful day, and she thinks she might need a drink. Or to cry in the bathroom, something she hasn’t done since law school. 

  
  


Rita feels like she’s in, like, a secret society. Because she can talk to Tissaia while texting Yennefer, and it’s both really cool and really hard. She doesn’t keep secrets from Tissaia, ever, because Tissaia reacts to not knowing things like if she’s ever caught by surprise by anything ever the world will end, so the best policy for her friend’s sanity is just to never shut up about anything potentially shocking in her life. And “Oh by the way I’m texting your future wife, she’s awesome, do you want her number? Anyway, she’s asking when your birthday is and I think she wants to give you herself for Christmas” would go over like a surprise proposal via mariachi band in the middle of an impeachment hearing. It would be bad, okay? And she doesn’t feel  _ guilty _ , because this is a secret mission for the  _ greater good _ , but still! Secrets! From Tissaia! It’s as unnatural as giving up wine, or not calling Philippa when she’s had a shit day. It doesn’t happen.

Do you know what else doesn’t happen? Tissaia reacting to nudes like a normal person. Rita hadn’t expected her to, oh,  _ send some back,  _ but this is kind of dumb. She’s sitting at her desk like she’s in a damn coma, staring down at her phone before turning it off and shoving it away, to pick it back up after five anguishing seconds to repeat the process. It’s kind of funny, and it would be if it didn’t mean she’s trying to be all weird and stubborn about this shit.  _ Just text the hot girl.  _

“So, are you going to DM her your phone number? Another date address? Do you want reservations anywhere?” She is willing to actually do her job if it means getting Tissaia to actually unclench and maybe smile at work. That would be great.

“I-I don’t know. I have a meeting.” Oh, gods. She does, indeed, have a meeting with several notable donors, and in this state, they’re going to think she’s had a lobotomy. Or they would if they didn’t have the observational skills of tree stumps.

“Have fun, then. I’ll hold down the fort!” She gives her very best “everything is fine, don’t even worry about it, I’ve totally got this” grin. The same one she used when they met when Tissaia was just an exhausted law student instead of an exhausted senator and Rita was a drunken sorority girl about to trounce Tissaia’s “boyfriend” at beer pong and then make out with her a little. 

“No fire, no twitter, no drinking. Love you.” 

“Aww, I love you too babe. Don’t slap anyone or fall asleep!” She keeps up the cheery but non-threatening front until Tissaia is gone, then breaks down into joyful laughter. Oh gods, her face. She’s  _ got  _ to send Yennefer the video of Tissaia looking at that picture and falling off her chair, it’s the right thing to do!

While she does that, she also notices that her twitter is blowing up a little. More than a little. She has a fair amount of followers because between friends she’s made while partying and thirst follows, that’s a bunch of people, but this is crazy.

The mystery is cleared up very fast when it’s discovered that the now infamous Sabrina Glevissig has mentioned her in a tweet, referring to her as Tissaia’s future maid of honor and asking what Yennefer should wear to the honeymoon. Things have, apparently, spiraled from there, and unlike Tissaia, Rita could not be more delighted. So many people want to ask her about Tissaia, or herself, and if they dated or are still dating and if Tissaia has a bondage kink, something Rita has rather intimate knowledge of.

What Tissaia does have is a two-hour meeting, which means Rita has two hours utterly unsupervised. She should probably spend this hour logged on to Tissaia’s twitter and hiding the several hundred tweets from the Republican party directed towards her very unstable boss, insisting that she shouldn’t put her job in the way of true love and should absolutely get married whenever her girlfriend wants. Relationships are about compromise! This message would likely be stronger if the republican party weren’t so famous for divorces, sex scandals, and a general inability to see “compromise” as anything other than “bend to my will or I will throw the mother of all tantrums.”

The crowning jewel of this newest round of stupid is once again from Calanthe, who is likely having hard liquor for lunch if her punctuation is anything to go by. Calanthe, who has never compromised on anything in her life, especially as it pertains to when she should get married. Tissaia, to the best of Rita’s knowledge, is at least not planning on telling Yennefer to fuck off for ten years only to pull a surprise wedding out of her ass in the midst of a scandal, but that’s surely not important at  _ all  _ and definitely shouldn’t be tweeted about from Tissaia’s account. She’ll use her own for that one. __

What  _ is _ important is that Tissaia is under the impression she and Yennefer are not actually dating, even though they  _ just  _ went on a date, and the other party involved seems to have interpreted the relationship differently. And that means it falls into Rita’s lap to be the poor soul to tell her that hey, if Yennefer and she _aren’t_ in a relationship, someone should probably tell her that before she hires a wedding planner. Or, you know, let this run its course and let there actually be a wedding. Rita likes the second option better!

If Rita were a competent, responsible secretary, she’d work on hiding all that shit, from the suggestions of strangers to the weird questions from Tissaia’s new fans.

She is not. She has a job because google calendar can do most of her assistant duties, and what Tissaia actually needs is one part therapist, one part bartender, and one part personal cheerleader, which Rita can do quite well. And with that said, she is going to spend the next two hours meeting all her new internet friends.

The only thing to do is to host a live stream, obviously. This could be so much fun, and she’s  _ bored,  _ and Tissaia isn’t entertaining her. Tissaia has told her hundreds of times that she’s an adult woman who should entertain herself, so that’s what she’s going to do! Right now! By answering the hundreds of audience questions flooding her screen, and then maybe asking for fanfic recs because apparently Yennefer’s fanbase took this new relationship by the horns and the content is piling up at a truly impressive speed. Maybe she’ll read some of it out loud later to post? That would be a nice thing for the fandom. And she can send it to Tissaia! It might put her in the right mood to text Yennefer back, at least…

Everything is going to be absolutely perfect. She just needs to maybe mention Yennefer’s latest foray into amateur photography every time Tissaia gets close to checking twitter to make sure she doesn’t actually do that and see shit, and then she’ll get away with this, and Phil will probably laugh her ass off and then want to eat her out for being such a genius. Oh, it’s a beautiful day at the office, and she is a horrible woman. Joy to the world!


	10. Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia makes a decision based purely on spite, Rita promotes herself to event planner, and Yennefer crashes a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S NOT DEAD, FOLKS?

Whoever said the holiday season is “the most wonderful time of the year” had to be on drugs at the time. And delusional. And is just plain  _ wrong.  _

It is December 1st, and Rita has placed a truly terrifying life-sized Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer in front of her desk. She’s forced to stare into its truly demonic, overly-large cartoon eyes each time she enters, and it is possibly the worst start to her morning she could imagine. Rita finds this little ritual adorable, and soon Rudolph the red-nosed reprobate is joined by a replica of what she thinks is a snowman but looks, to her discerning gaze, like a pervert in a snow trench coat flashing people in an alley.

She will admit that her general mood may be coloring her assessment of Rita’s annual attempt at interior decoration, which she has a great talent for if you categorize success as the ability to squeeze as many tacky blow-ups and statues into one small lobby area as the fire code and physics permit. Sometimes, Tiisaia will admit, she’s just terrifying and it may be best to treat her like a grenade that may or may not be primed to explode in a blast of misplaced enthusiasm and questionable advice. Like when she asks Tissaia about Yennefer.

The thing is, Tissaia has  _ still  _ not replied to that stupid picture. She just...It’s idiotic, but she has  _ no  _ idea what to say or do about this very unfamiliar situation, and whenever she opens her DMs, confident that this will be the time for her to grow a pair and say something, she sees Yennefer’s very pretty body and malfunctions. It’s embarrassing. She is rapidly approaching forty, and yet her ability to talk to beautiful women has barely progressed from her law school days. Then again, those didn’t involve much talking, and nudes were not yet “a thing,” as the youth say these days, so there were fewer opportunities to ruin everything through her own ineptitude.

Not to say that she’s been completely ignoring Yennefer, which would be impossible and probably begging for more drunk, sexual compliments in a public forum. She still replies to tweets asking about policy or charities or  _ whatever,  _ but that’s about it because a) Yennefer has been more or less behaving herself, and b) if Tissaia ignores the flirting, maybe she'll magically stop being a flustered disaster. And she’d be feeling like a complete bitch if Yennefer hadn’t told her not to worry about replying. Thank all the gods for that, because otherwise, she’d be having a total mental collapse by now. If she's not already. It's been debated at great length, with Rita firmly insisting that Tissaia might want to see a therapist and get put on tranquilizers.

Instead of that delightful possibility that she’ll leave for alternate-universe her, this situation just makes her very, very nervous instead of deranged and nonfunctional. Because she will admit she is not an expert on flirting or dating or whatever is going on here, but Yennefer clearly thinking the next round of shenanigans is hers to start, and that means that Tissaia has the new PR team that she hired for this one situation on call 24/7. Just in case. This girl does have a flair for the dramatic, after all, and Tissaia has learned that her ability to defuse twitter hashtags is about on par with her ability to not roll her eyes at Rita’s taste in lunch break reality TV or sexual partners.

Somehow, even with this new service hired and for all appearances hard at work, the text from Renfri Creyden arrives before the email from her stupid, useless rep. It very smugly announces that really, there’s a video Tissaia ought to see immediately, and it concerns her somewhat confusing relationship status.

Oh, joy. Tissaia wasn’t aware her relationship status had changed from “single,” which is what it had been since her graduation and she and Rita had decided that perhaps screwing each other’s brains out while they were working together was a questionable decision. Or, Tissaia had decided that, and Rita had laughed her ass off at how many times she tried and failed to tell her that directly while accidentally ending up having sex with her again. Clearly, her Rita-wrangling abilities have not improved since then.

“Hey, Tissaia? You’re viral again.” Oh, fucking hell, speak of the devil and she shall start talking and have horrible news. “Also I think Yennefer just offered to be your Christmas gift and I think you should say yes.”   
  


Tissaia lets out a long sigh that towards the end starts to sound like an enraged shriek of a large bird, but isn’t, because she is a functional adult and also because it is too goddamn early for deranged squawking no matter how complicated her day might get. She gets up and stands behind Rita to watch the carnage on her computer. Traumatic experiences are better with friends, right? She thinks she read that somewhere, though her experience with trauma and also friends is somewhat limited.   
  


On the screen, she can see an all-too-pleased-with-herself Renfri asking Yennefer, who looks absolutely adorable in the oversized sweater she wore to this interview and  _ wow  _ Tissaia wants to hug her, if she has any plans for the holiday season. Tissaia’s eyebrows crawl into her hairline. It's such an absurdly innocent question. How on earth had Yennefer decided to start talking about, apparently, showing up under Tissaia's nonexistent Christmas tree or something?

She gets her answer when Yennefer turns directly towards the camera, her favorite “I’m about to be naughty and you can’t stop me” grin on her pouty lips and announces that it really depends on if a certain sexy senator needs someone to keep her warm this Christmas. 

Tissaia is not thrilled, and she is not blushing. She really, really isn’t. It’s not like she’s suddenly imagining Yennefer in nothing but a red silk bow over her tits in her living room. Not at all!

“Hey, are you okay? You’re doing that ‘staring into space and drooling’ thing. And she’s not even naked, so that’s just impressive.” Naked? What? It takes her brain a few seconds to process the false alarm and also chase off the mental image of a naked Yennefer that likes to prance around and sabotage her thought process so often these days. Ugh. Those photos are going to kill her. 

“I am  _ not  _ drooling. Just-turn that off. We have work.” She storms back to her desk, committed to ignoring any strange desire to listen to Maria Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” Because this whole holiday thing is ridiculous and is made even more so by Rita’s insistence in wearing a Santa hat to work. That woman needs to be tranquilized before she decides to start hanging mistletoe. She does not need to end up accidentally forced to kiss her again, whether or not it’s “a tradition” at this point. 

She also doesn’t want to think about Yennefer and mistletoe or kissing Yennefer, or Yennefer in a goddamn Santa hat and nothing else. This is the problem. All mental roads lead back to Yennefer and those photos and her own guilt complex for not finding an adequate response, and it is terrible. And also a prison of her own making, because Rita has certainly offered to reply  _ for  _ her but Tissaia had said no, and she’s beginning to think that was a poor decision. Even if Rita had propositioned Yennefer, at least it would have dragged her out of her current purgatory.

She is just about to begin reading Stregobor’s truly heinous medical budget, typos of the word “budget” on the title page and all, when Rita’s head pops up from over her screen like a deranged meerkat, staring at Tissaia without saying a word until Tissaia drops her notes and glares. “What? Is there something on my face, or something in your coffee that’s less than legal that you haven’t offered to share? You're starting to scare me.”

“So, Calanthe just tweeted you.”

Of course, she did. That little idiocy has not, unfortunately, abated over the past week, and Tissaia is getting tired of it.

“What fresh lunacy am I being subjected to now?”

Rita puffs up like an overblown balloon. “It’s not lunacy this time. Just mean. But like, she’s right.”

Well, that was cryptic and annoying, and Tissaia can feel enough red flags for a parade in that one innocuous statement but bravely or stupidly she forges on. “What did she say, exactly?”

“She wishes you luck on Christmas all alone? But you don’t have to be alone, because Yennefer said that-”

“I don’t care what Yennefer said!” She doesn’t! At all! And she doesn’t care about Calanthe and her stupid, disgustingly in love with her husband. So there.

“Sure, babe.” Rita rolls her eyes so hard Tissaia is momentarily concerned they’ll get stuck, before returning to what looks like cutting paper snowflakes from a discarded early copy of Tissaia’s next speech. She decides to ignore it because she is occasionally a good friend but a terrible boss, and also because the snowflakes will at least be less terrifying than any more anthropomorphic cartoon creatures and will keep her occupied and harmless for a few minutes. “So are you going to reply?”

Is she? It would appear that replying doesn’t actually make things any better, but she is still quite annoyed. “I’ve got a better idea. How do we feel about…” She steels her nerves, trying not to grimace. “Maybe throwing a Christmas party? For charity, or something. Just-Oof!” She had a point. She knows she had a point, but her arms are full of an overly-enthusiastic Rita insisting that of  _ course  _ they should throw a party, and this is the best idea ever, and Tissaia is the best friend ever. And that makes her feel a hell of a lot better. Because now she’s not throwing a party to spite Calanthe, she is throwing a party to make Rita smile, and that is a massive improvement.

Now she just needs to learn how to throw a party. Fuck.

* * *

  
  


Rita, in her not so humble opinion, has outdone herself. In the two weeks since Tissaia had her most genius idea  _ ever _ , she has thrown together the Fuck You party of the century. And yes, technically it’s to raise money for underprivileged youth or something, but what really matters is that a  _ lot  _ of celebrities offered to be the entertainment and it’s basically a hookup buffet. Tissaia may have spent the last two weeks hyperventilating because apparently they don’t teach event planning at Harvard Law, but Rita handled everything for her and it’s going to be perfect. And perhaps, if she’s very, very lucky, Rita won’t be the only one not being celibate tonight, because this weird hiatus between Tissaia and Yennefer is unacceptable. One does  _ not  _ leave a woman like that on read for three weeks, no matter how much gay panic you’re having! But it’s fine because Yennefer kept texting her and thinks this is hysterical, and Rita may or may not have sent her an invitation to the Fuck You, Calanthe Tuirseach party.

Tissaia did  _ not  _ like it when Rita called it a Fuck You party, for the record. At all. But really, it’s a party to annoy a nosy bitch who needs to focus on her own disastrous family life, so if Rita is going to give it a fun name and use it to hunt for hot people to keep her warm this holiday season, she doesn’t feel like that’s over the line. Granted, it’s never over the line, because the pursuit of a new friend with benefits is pretty much a holy quest, but  _ still. _

She has to feel a little proud of how this all turned out, no matter how “childish,” in Tissaia’s own words, the reason for it may have been. The massive city square they’ve set up shop in is bedecked with enough string lights to strangle the entire Republican Party, Tissaia is wearing something that actually ends before her freaking neck, and Rita managed to wrangle her into a Santa hat. Now, as she passes out gifts to throngs of assembled families, she looks like a very nervous elf. It’s adorable, and Rita would absolutely tap that if Tissaia were looking for some kind of commitment-free thing, and also if Ruta weren’t already planning her tenure as Tissaia's maid of honor for her happy marriage to Yennefer Vengerberg, who unbeknownst to Tissaia should be arriving with the eternally lovely Sabrina Glevissig in fifteen minutes. Because Rita is a party-planning genius.

“I have to thank you for the invite tonight. I didn’t think your esteemed employer would ever want to see my face again.” And what a pretty face it is. Renfri Creyden stands next to her with a plastic cup of the cider they’re serving to the kids present, but Rita can smell the booze in it from here and is distinctly jealous. She would have brought alcohol, but there is a secret, get Tissaia laid mission going on here, and she’s supposed to be alert or whatever.

“Please just tell me you’re photographing this.” Rita points to where Tissaia is surrounded by a small mob of adolescents, whom she is barely taller than in her heels. It’s adorable and it will make a great photo for a puff piece about how nice and not frigid she is, which can only help her image at this point.

“I’m already thinking up elf jokes for the headline.”

“In that case, I didn’t invite you and you snuck in.” Renfri raises her glass in a toast which Rita thinks means she agrees to these terms, and Rita returns it with the sad cup of non-alcoholic hot chocolate she’d grabbed. Renfri rolls her eyes at Rita’s pleading look but passes her a flask hidden in the pockets of her coat anyway because she's just wonderful like that.

Rita likes this girl. A lot. And not just because she’s Rita’s temporary plug, but because she’s very petty and hot and managed to fluster Tissaia, which takes serious balls and talent.

She’s just feeling the alcohol start to burn in her gut, half-empty flask in her hand, laughing at something Renfri has said about...Well, she’s not sure, but it was funny. But anyway, there’s suddenly a lot of cheering, and she knows exactly why. Unlike Tissaia, who just looks confused. Because this was her secret mission for the day, and damn it she’s proud of herself.

“Hey. You might want to film this.”

“Film what?”

“That.” She points, knowing no further explanation is necessary. 

Yennefer Vengerberg, arm in arm with her tabloid rival, with a small battalion of assistants bearing toys and booze. Evidently she’s gotten into the giving spirit of the holidays, or more accurately the impressing Tissaia spirit. There is a crown of plants in her hair, and Rita would bet anything it’s made of mistletoe. That is such a nice touch, and she wishes she’d thought of that because she likes Renfri’s smile a lot and she wants to kiss it. Or something. Her brain is a little fuzzy right now, and it is totally the alcohol or her hormones or both’s fault.

Tissaia finally catches sight of the approaching parade of famous people and their employees and stops dead, frozen in shock. One of her aids gives her a subtle nudge forward. All eyes are on this new development, and she can feel Tissaia getting a little, well, squirrelly with the divergence from the almighty plan. So she does her job as the best friend and calls an audible.

She sends a text to her new underlings that as the official event planner she gets to order around, and within three seconds they’re inundated with horrendously loud Christmas music and a hired Santa impersonator. The kids go wild, far more interested in this than some random ladies staring at each other, and the day is saved. This also gives the massive knot of famous people concentrated in one area the cue to mingle and stop drawing all reporters towards that one section of the party like a weird attention black hole that Tissaia won’t want anywhere near her.

“You really had to break that up? It could have been hysterical.” Renfri pouts up at her, which is really goddamn cute even though Renfri terrifies a lot of people, and Rita’s hookup senses start tingling. 

“Uh huh. I’m sure I’ll make it up to you somehow.” She leans a little closer, her arm brushing against Renfri’s, and glory hallelujah the woman seems intrigued. Or is just plotting to ruin her, because with her foray into internet fame as the official fandom bridge to Tissaia, she’s got enough people interested in her for Renfri to try to fuck her up.

“Make up for not letting me record Tissaia de Vries losing her mind over a pretty girl? Really?” Renfri’s arm wraps around her hip, and the smile on her face is almost threatening. Rita, who has a very difficult time telling good sex from a potentially embarrassing doctor’s visit, is thinking that if this is her Christmas gift this year she’s all in. Tissaia isn’t the only one who gets to have a hot date tonight! Funny that Rita arranged Tissaia’s, and hers is here because of Tissaia. That’s probably like karma for her being a good person and playing matchmaker, right?

“I’m sure I’ll think of something. But if you’re looking for stuff to record, you may wanna keep your phone out and wait a few minutes. Trust me.” Operation: No More Sexually Frustrated Boss has only just begun, and the filmable shenanigans are only going to increase as people start partaking in Yennefer’s shipment of hard liquor. And then Renfri will smile again, and Rita will be able to stare at her dimples, which maybe make her want to swoon a tiny bit, and she’ll find a way to get Renfri to come home with her. 

“I’m going to hold you to that, love.” Oh yes, please. Hold her to all sorts of things. Like up against the damn wall. “Now, since you appear to be the mastermind here, where should I point the camera?”

* * *

  
  


Yennefer has to admit, she’s outdone herself. Her entrance could potentially be categorized as “extra,” but that seems to be the theme of this entire occasion, and let it never be said that Yennefer couldn’t prepare for a party.

She will admit that her entourage might be a bit large, but she’s sure it will be good publicity to have a small army of film stars bearing gifts, all of whom may be slightly tipsy but not enough to act stupid, show up unannounced to a charity thing. Really, they’re here because Yennefer is on a mission and since Tissaia hates being the center of attention, her platoon of buffoons is going to probably end up making several scenes and make sure that she isn’t the most photographable thing around for once, because Yennefer learns from her damn mistakes, even if no one notices. Sabrina has lots of colorful friends, and so does she, and between the two of them, they will make this the event of the season and also make sure no one cares too much about what they all spent their time doing. Or else.

She will admit, showing up with Sabrina on her arm even if it’s for a good cause is almost painful, but she wanted to interrogate her about why Triss called her squealing about a date and exactly what or who went down at that particular event. She’s been surprisingly tight-lipped, which suggests to Yennefer that Triss is, at least for the moment, not at risk for developing whatever nasty diseases Sabrina might be carrying. Which she thinks is good? Is she supposed to be trying to get Triss laid, which is what Yennefer would want, or trying to keep Sabrina from trying to seduce her because Triss is like, small and squishy and has a lot of feelings about this stuff that Yennefer doesn’t understand but tends to involve not kissing people until the third date and other weird shit? 

“So. Did you have a plan for what happens after we show up, or are you just going to stand here looking stupid until she agrees to marry you?” Sabrina drops her arm the second they enter the square like it might be poisonous, which is a relief because Yennefer isn’t particularly wild about touching her either. 

“Of course I have a plan. I always have a plan!” Those plans are not always  _ good,  _ but she certainly has them. In this case, she is going to go say hello to her dear friend Rita and stay talking to her until the press gets bored of staring at her or something exciting happens, at which point Rita is going to get her over to Tissaia, and Yennefer will get to employ the mistletoe braided into her hair. She really, really wants a kiss for Christmas. And then maybe Tissaia will let her post about it to piss off this Calanthe lady and also announce to the entire goddamn world that Tissaia is now off-limits.

“Does the plan involve Triss?”

“Does the-What? No, of course not.” She searches the crowd, hoping against hope that Sabrina just has a one-track mind and felt the need to blab about her crush, and not that her wonderful friend has decided to be the voice of reason and stop her. She cannot be stopped! She is chaos incarnate, and she will get her kiss!

Sabrina is not just blabbing about her crush. Pushing through the throng is Triss Merigold, a harried look in her usually warm eyes as she ducks and weaves through ecstatic and hyperactive youths to get to them. Fuck. Right, what does she do now? Triss won’t rugby tackle her and force her into a car or something, she thinks, but she’s not sure what else Triss could be planning on doing to prevent her from getting to her girl. This is probably why Yennefer is not allowed to interfere in Triss’s love life anymore. Because she gets ideas like this and then actually executes them.

“Yennefer? You owe me.” Before Yennefer can ask what that means, Sabrina darts in Triss’s general direction like a moth about to burn itself up chasing a flame, sacrificing herself for the greater good. She reckons that whatever Sabrina has planned to distract their beloved party crasher is going to buy her five minutes tops, so her original plan is out the window. It is time to  _ move. _

It’s laughably easy to get to Tissaia, and this gives Yennefer many impolite thoughts towards her security team. What if she were an assassin? Or a kidnapper? Or a deranged reporter? Anyone could just come to grab her like this! Now, Yennefer is not an assassin or a reporter, though she’d love to kidnap Tissaia, the fun way that involves handcuffs and blindfolds and fucking in new and mysterious locations, so she’s grateful for the shitty security just this once, though she’ll definitely bring that up to Tissaia as a concerned citizen and possibly as a concerned girlfriend. She'd really like to be Tissaia's girlfriend.

“Merry Christmas, Senator.” It’s so cute, the way Tissaia whips around so fast that Yennefer worries about the damage done to her spine. But it’s hard to worry about anything when Tissaia is a few feet away and gaping at her. She’s just so pretty, and there are snowflakes in her hair, and generally, Yennefer’s heart is doing a very strange one-woman conga line in her chest. It’s very disconcerting. 

“You’re...here.” Tissaia sounds a bit overwhelmed by this entire situation, which makes sense because instead of a god it seems like this woman worships plans, and Yennefer would bet her appearance is not part of one. Oh well! The best lines are always improvised, so this is going to have to be as well!

“I am. Did you miss me?” She steps a little further into Tissaia’s space, resisting the urge to attack-hug her. Because puppies and kittens have nothing on how cute Tissaia de Vries in a Santa hat and a massive puffy coat is. 

Tissaia pauses as if weighing her options but more likely checking for snooping reporters before replying. “I-Yes. I did. Surprisingly. I enjoy your company.” Awww, it looks so painful for her to say that. Probably because it’s a few steps away from admitting she likes Yennefer’s rather enthusiastic pursuit, which she’s been trying so hard to reject. To no avail, obviously, because Yennefer isn’t gonna give up that easily and also because causing an uproar on twitter once a week is one of her favorite hobbies.

“I missed you too, you know. I think I’m going to have to spend more time here.” Granted, she can afford to fly wherever and whenever she wants, but this is when Tissaia is supposed to offer to let Yennefer crash with her, and then Yennefer seduces her and they have sex in her bed. She has thought about this in great detail.

“Please resist the urge to call a Uhaul on my behalf, dear.” Tissaia is smiling, and it’s a very small one, the existence of which she seems rather confused about, but still. Tissaia is smiling at her and made an actual joke. 

“Fine, no Uhaul. How about a kiss instead? It is tradition, after all.” 

Tissaia eyes the greenery in her hair warily before letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Are you planning on kissing every fortunate soul who steps in your personal space this evening? Because I’d rather not catch herpes.”

Fortunate? Ha! Tissaia thinks people who get to kiss her are lucky, which means maybe she will want to kiss her, and it is a wonderful day. “Just you, babe. Please? I promise I won’t take any photos or anything. Not that I could, because, you know. I only have so many hands, and I want to have mine on you.”

Tissaia may roll her eyes a bit, but she’s also laughing. It’s a very nice sound, she thinks. Low, and melodic, and reminds her a bit of water over stones or other stupid, poetic things than she keeps thinking nowadays when she wants to be thinking and experiencing absolute filth. “I doubt Ms. Creyden over there will need any help documenting this entire event.” 

Renfri Creyden is indeed filming this. Which sucks, because if Tissaia  _ wants  _ to kiss her but doesn’t? Renfri is going to be so blacklisted. Well, actually no, she likes Renfri and she’s funny, but Yennefer will still be pissed.

“We could go inside?” There are a lot of buildings still open, though she doubts they’ll be more private. She’s grasping at straws a smidge. 

This turns out to be unnecessary. There’s a very smug look on Tissaia’s face that she decides she likes a lot, and then her arms are around Yennefer’s neck and  _ holy shit this is happening? _

Tissaia’s lips are cold, and she’d assume hers are too because they’ve been outside in December for a rather long time, but her tongue is warm and slick and it feels so good against hers. She can hear people yelling and it’s probably because they’re kissing in public, but Tissaia doesn’t seem to give a fuck so neither does she. Yennefer may not be able to touch much of her because this stupid coat, while warm, is basically a marshmallow-ish force field hiding each and every one of Tissaia’s curves, but it doesn’t matter because this time  _ she  _ kissed  _ Yennefer  _ instead of the other way around, on purpose, and she’s grinning into the kiss so wide it feels like her face will crack.

When Tissaia pulls away, she waves to the cameras like she doesn’t hate their attention, and Yennefer is exceptionally confused until Tissaia leans in close to her ear and murmurs “Feel free to tag Senator Tuirseach when you inevitably post this.”

That doesn’t clear up nearly enough of this for Yennefer’s taste, but spite is a very powerful motivator so it would explain the new exhibitionist streak Tissaia has developed. And okay! “Fuck Calanthe Tuirseach, piss her off on twitter” is something Yennefer is more than happy to play along with. It’s like a relationship milestone, their first feud together. Or something. She’s a little giddy and her thoughts are being dumb.

She’s totally going to ask Renfri for the picture she no doubt took of this. Like, she wants to frame that, and also tag Calanthe in it and inform her that Tissaia will not be spending Christmas or anything else alone ever again, so long as she stops being so stubborn about all this.

“Happy holidays, Yennefer. I’m afraid I’ve been summoned, but I’m, well, I’m happy we ran into each other.” Tissaia scurries away to where a blonde woman who Yennefer recognizes as Rita is being pinned up against a wall by everyone’s favorite political correspondent, whom Yennefer really needs to talk to later. They are  _ not  _ acting in a child-friendly manner, and Yennefer has to assume “I’ve been summoned” actually means “excuse me while I stop my friend from getting laid in public.” She’ll have to remember that one.

Speaking of friends getting laid in public, it would appear that Sabrina’s strategy for distracting Triss was also of the mouth to mouth variety, and while they are being far less disgusting about this, they are also doing that stupid “stare into each other’s eyes and sigh and plan the wedding” thing that couples do, and Yenefer’s desire to be a little shit rises as surely as the damn sun in the mornings. You know what the happy couple needs? A snowball to the skull. Or at least, Sabrina does. Triss needs a hug. And maybe some hot chocolate, because she’s adorable like that. Maybe they have sprinkles for her?


	11. Horrible Choices Brought On By Twitter: A Biography of Tissaia De Vries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia makes a snap decision, Triss struggles with gift shopping, Yennefer is having a fantastic day, and Rita does not prioritize her career.

Triss is not sure what she could have expected after Yennefer all but announced that she was dating senator de Vries on twitter, told Calanthe Tuirseach to “go fuck yourself,” and also that if Tissaia wanted to spend Christmas with her, that would be ideal.

She is not sure what she expected beyond complete and utter pandemonium, that is, because the fans had enough questions for their demands for answers to fill the entire library of congress, and Calanthe’s supporters had enough objections and insults to drown out a philosophy class of rich white college students discussing the wealth gap. In other words, the shit has hit the fan.

What she most certainly would not have expected in her wildest dreams is Eist Tuirseach, although perhaps she should have, because he is a ride or die for his wife, and really she’s surprised the drama-loving ponce hadn’t shown up earlier.

“Did you really need to say Calanthe should buy him viagra for Christmas?” Yennefer is curled up on her sofa as if it belongs to her, throw blankets covering up whatever outrageous outfit choice she’s made for the day and with a plate full of the cinnamon rolls Triss had accidentally ended up stress-baking, nods regally as if any other action would be an insult to her very being. And that may very well have been the case, but  _ really _ ? 

Triss has never met Eist Tuirseach. He is rumored to be a very nice man, albeit one who worships the ground his wife walks upon. In Triss’s opinion, since his wife is such a deeply unpleasant person, he probably is less fantastic than all that. But that’s beside the point. The  _ point  _ is that Yennefer really doesn’t need  _ another  _ feud, one that could have been very easily avoided, and now they have an irate himbo of a trophy husband subtweeting them. Because Eist, in his deliriously enamored state, may have noticed the attacks on his beloved and decided he had beef with a movie star and a democrat now.

“At least my politician agreed to marry me eventually. Good luck with that, by the way.” Yennefer looks up from her cell phone, lip curled in disgust, and the fires of hell burning behind her eyes. Triss fears for the safety or Mr. Tuirseach all of a sudden. “Mine is going to agree too!”

...Right. Deep breaths, Triss. “I’m sure she will, dear.” Hopefully several years from now, and not just to spite the opposing political party. If senator de Vries is toying with Yennefer just to piss off a rival from work, Triss is going to...Well, do something very mean. Because Yennefer hasn’t shut up about how pretty the senator’s hair is or how soft her lips are for about two hours now, and while it is so cute that Yenna is finally embracing the fact that she is a human with feelings and is trying to commit to a relationship, no matter how, well, weird it seems to Triss, it is also very concerning from an outside perspective that she only got that kiss in front of half the world’s cameras and while the other party was in a state of complete rage. Triss will admit that she’s no relationship expert, but still. That’s rather suspicious.

“Right. And I bet it’ll take me less than four proposals and twelve fucking years, unlike some people I could name.” 

Triss nods along half-heartedly, because yes, that does sound like a reasonable time frame for just about any relationship and not like Yennefer is going to propose tomorrow, so she will encourage it. This state of attempting to drive Yennefer down a slightly more controlled, logical path instead of barreling towards her goals like a bull in a china shop is derailed when she realizes Yennefer is typing. And smirking. Lots and lots of smirking, which is generally a bad sign to end all bad signs, and the last time she saw Yennefer approaching these levels of smug dumbassery, she decided to slap a TV host and then crash in Triss’s apartment with Sabrina. So maybe this should be encouraged? That did end rather well for most people, after all.

“What are you doing, Yennefer?”

“Typing, Triss.” Uh, yeah. She can see that, and her "wacky shenanigans and bullshit" sensor is tingling.

“Typing  _ what _ , Yenna?”

Yennefer pauses before hitting several more buttons in rapid succession, which Triss recognizes as the traditional “There, now it’s posted and you can’t stop me” dance. At this moment, she resembles a dog swallowing something it absolutely is not allowed to eat. Or in this case, post something that is no doubt highly inflammatory.

“I’ll read it to you if you promise not to take my phone.” Oh, fuck. 

“I have my own phone, Yenna.” And sure enough, when she opens twitter, there is an announcement posted by her very favorite headache announcing that Eist should hardly be bragging about his wedding when it took more than a decade, his dignity, and four offers to achieve, and then only occurred once Calanthe was confronted by a pregnant daughter with a broken engagement and the most dramatic screaming match of the last twenty years. Which...Yeah. She’s not wrong, but she definitely shouldn’t have  _ said it.  _ “You really had to do it, huh?”

“Uh, yes?” The lofty look on Yennefer’s soft features indicates that it would be practically insulting to ask her to just  _ not _ . Yennefer doesn’t know how to  _ not _ , to the point where if left alone in the woods with a signal flare, she’d find a way to shoot it at and thus enrage a sleeping bear instead of summoning rescue. And Triss loves her anyway, which is the real tragedy of the thing. She always did like the arrogant, demanding ones. “Don’t look at me like that, you’re the one who is physically incapable of not impulse-purchasing every plant you see.” 

“That is different!” She loves her leafy children, okay? Even if they take up an alarming amount of her space. And it’s not like she can’t afford it! Besides, the lady at the Brokilon plant nursery has the kind of smile that reminds Triss of baking and hearths and she’s not her type, which appears to veer more towards the intimidating and borderline mean these days, but it’s hard not to get enthusiastic about whatever she’s introducing Triss to, like some kind of dryad lady. Whatever. She’s getting distracted by plants, which are  _ no way  _ on the same level as starting public feuds with political figures, for the record.

“Does that mean I get to impulse-purchase whatever I want? Because I’d love to send Tissaia a little something. Do you think she’d like a boat?” Yennefer seems genuinely convinced this is a good idea, and it physically hurts to be the voice of reason in this case, because when Yennefer decides to be nice to people she can be downright adorable and Triss’s heart can’t  _ take this okay?  _ She is  _ soft  _ and Yennefer has this adorably vulnerable little smile on her face, the kind that only comes from genuinely wanting to make another human smile and being actually, truly nervous about doing it. And Triss almost cracks, because she’s so proud of Yennefer for putting herself out there, even if her methods are dreadful, but  _ still.  _ Voice of reason!

“Please do not buy her a boat.” Or anything else ludicrously expensive that will give Yennefer’s poor accountant a heart attack. Tissaia doesn’t strike her as that kind of girl.

“You’re totally right, actually.” Oh, dear gods. Could it be that they are making progress here? Could the days of finding a tiger in the living room because no one had told Yennefer “No, don’t buy that” in time be over? 

“Tissaia is too much of a workaholic to use one. Huh.” Or not. But at least Triss won’t need to help Yennefer have the continental postal service find a way to deliver a damn yacht, so she’s marking it down as a victory.

“You shouldn’t give her anything crazy expensive. She might feel like you’re trying to buy her affection.” 

Triss can see the mistake the second the words are out of her mouth and the gears are turning in Yennefer’s devious, impulsive brain, but by then it’s too late. “Would that work? Because I have a lot of money.”

Oh, for goodness sake. Triss flops down onto an armchair, stroking Henry the Ficus’s leaves while her brain buffers. “You would sound like Vilgefortz doing that. Or something. Think of your own reason, just don’t.”

“Ew.”

“Yes, ew is correct. So don’t do it.” 

“Fine, what are you getting Sabrina? You’re all romantic and whatever. Help me.” There is no please at the end of that statement, but Yennefer admitting she needs another person’s help and guidance happens once every thousand years. So Triss has to do her very best to resist the urge to hug her and babble about how proud she is.

She also wishes she had an answer. However, the problem of Sabrina’s Christmas gift, and what would even be appropriate to give her, has consumed her thoughts for weeks now and she hasn’t made much progress. Because the thing is, she’s not sure if she should be going “friend I have a crush on” or “new girlfriend.” Granted, they have been on a date, two dates if their mutual party-crashing counts. And Sabrina kissed her on purpose, but she never actually said they were dating so she’s not making any assumptions. She wants to, because thinking about Sabrina or being near Sabrina makes her feel like twirling around like a lunatic, and because her eyes are a shade of green none of her plant babies will ever achieve and she wants to kiss her again, a lot. She really, really wants to be dating Sabrina. Because she has it  _ bad _ , and that is concerning because she has no idea what on earth she should do about it. It is very difficult to find an object that she can wrap that conveys this mess of emotions and self-doubt and “please love me.” And also Sabrina has enough money to buy herself whatever she wants, which makes it hard to just find something she doesn’t have.

“Earth to Triss? You can think about giving her oral for Christmas or wherever your brain went later. Unless you think I should give Tissaia oral for Christmas, which I am entirely down for. Pun intended.”

“Do  _ not _ !” She does not want to hear about Yennefer’s fantasy sex life. At all! And she definitely doesn’t want to apply that image to  _ her  _ life and Sabrina and potentially solving her little gift problem by-Okay. Nope. Yennefer is right, she can explore that idea later, in private and possibly in the company of her vibrator, but right now she has a friend to help and a consumerist crisis to prevent.

“You are blushing so hard. Hold still, I want to get a picture.” She thinks Yennefer is kidding until she reaches for her cell phone, and Triss, not wanting the no doubt embarrassing expression she’s making to be documented for all time and posterity to be whipped out whenever Yennefer wants to annoy her, hurls a throw pillow at her head. It connects with a satisfying thwap, the phone is sent flying, and the threat is eliminated. Because Yennefer can be a little shit, and sometimes she deserves a pillow to the face.

“Do not give Tissaia sex for Christmas. Unless she tells you, using actual words and not ‘hints,’ because wishful thinking can invent those like crazy, that she wants that. In which case have fun, I guess, and don’t tell me about it unless you need to find a way to break it off without causing a media frenzy.” That would be a nightmare, but it’s Yennefer so for her, Triss will find a way, even if she needs to break into twitter’s server storage facility and turn off the electricity. 

“Okay, okay,  _ fine.  _ Can I at least buy her lingerie, then?” Yennefer wraps her arms around the pillow and leans forward, glancing up at Triss with an exasperated pout on her face like sending someone she’s seen in person three times sexy underwear is the most obvious idea in the world.

...Why. Just why? “Yenna. Use your head. What message does that send?” Because she would bet “I just want to have sex with you already” is not what Yennefer had in mind. Because she’s quite infatuated with this woman, she’s just not thinking straight, or possibly at all. But “What is Yennefer thinking?” Is a question that would puzzle philosophers, scientists, and at one point an FBI negotiator with the wrong address, so she doesn’t feel bad for having the urge to eat a bunch of ice cream and ask the heavens what she did to deserve this.

“It says she should give in and date me already.” Yup. Definitely not thinking. Fantastic.

“I love you, but you need to rethink all of that.”

“Fine. I solemnly swear to not  _ just _ send that. I still wanna know what you’re giving Sabrina. Because if you’re stuck, I know a great sex shop, and-Hey!” Pillow number two smacks into Yennefer’s chest, and Triss pumps her fist in celebration of her accuracy. Because when she is with Yennefer, she finds herself behaving like a ten-year-old. It’s nice, even if it tends to destroy her dignity and give her lots of horrifying mental images. Though she’ll admit this time they’ve been somewhat nice, if highly distracting, and she’s still stuck on both how to help Yennefer and the entire Sabrina situation.

  
  
  


Tissaia is not one to rest on her laurels, so the day after her very successful “Fuck This, Let’s Get Laid To Spite The Assholes” party, she’s back in the office. Rita isn’t exactly thrilled with this turn of events, because that means  _ she  _ is also back at the office, instead of still in bed with Renfri, who for the record owes Rita a new bra. And possibly several tubes of concealer. The biting was hot but very time-consuming to cover, and she was very late for work.

This may be less because she needed to prevent her chest from looking like a piece of modern art and more because apparently, Renfri sets her own hours and thus decided that working was heavily overrated when there’s morning sex to have. And she agrees. Oh, dear gods, she agrees, but then she walked in thirty minutes late with Starbucks, limping heavily, and Tissaia had given her that  _ look  _ like she’s disappointed in her life choices, even if she was smiling, and Rita may give very few fucks but Tissaia has most of them so that kind of hurt.

Not enough to change her behavior in any way, just, you know. In general.

Her ability to feel sorry for her  _ very  _ justified behavior lasted about an hour, at which point responding to emails got too damn boring, and staring up at the ceiling and counting down the minutes to lunch was way less interesting than checking her texts. And her DMs, because her fandom, and she knows it’s really more Tissaia’s fandom but Rita is the one taking care of them so  _ ha _ , is full of very encouraging people and reading their praise and suggestions for what she ought to maybe post is a lot of fun.

She has a lot of texts, and they’re all from the #Yennaia group chat. Yennefer wants Tissaia’s measurements, for some reason, and also a list of charities she likes, and Rita is not going to ask any questions because she’s not sure she wants to have knowledge of, and thus technically be responsible for, whatever the fuck is about to go down. She will, however, hand over the requested information with less token resistance than the heroine of a trashy romance novel presented with a morally ambiguous man with the inability to take no for an answer. In other words, she holds out for about three seconds before providing an itemized list of the boring stuff and then not only listing Tisssaia’s exact measurements, which she knows because she has taken a great deal of Tissaia’s wardrobe hostage over time and also because she’s seen a lot more of Tissaia then she should probably tell Yennefer about, but a great deal of information about Tissaia’s sexual history her new girlfriend should probably know, whether or not Tissaia agrees with her. It’s fine. She’ll never know, probably, and even if she does Rita will just claim Philippa stole her phone again. 

It takes about ten minutes to type all of the fun stuff out, and by that time she totally forgets about the charity thing or the fact that she’s technically five feet away from the topic of her conversation. So she’s a bit surprised when Tissaia “I will not talk at all during work hours unless it’s for a phone call” de Vries breaks the comfortable silence of the office with a sledgehammer.

“...Holy shit.” 

Rita turns to stare at Tissaia, blinking several times in case she might be hallucinating. But no, her beloved anal-retentive bestie is still staring at her computer in abject shock, pale blue eyes comically wide with what Rita really hopes is like, shock or something, or maybe arousal if it’s Yennefer texting but this is  _ not  _ that expression, and not horror because some man sent more nudes. Or whatever. It could be a lot of shit because it has been a crazy fucking month and a half.

“Uh, you okay? Should I get the medkit? Or I also have more wine if that would help.” And then maybe she can convince Tissaia to drunk-text Yennefer, and propose, and then help Yennefer get her ass to a justice of the peace for the vows before she sobers up. Perfect!

“No, no. That’s just fine. And more wine would not help. In fact, I have to ask why you consider wine in the office an acceptable concept at all.” 

“Wine everywhere is an acceptable concept. Especially on someone else’s-”

“Rita!” Tissaia snaps out of her computer coma to adopt an adorably scandalized expression, and Rita feels the urge to coo over her like one would a kitten or something. Or someone’s grandmother who finally figured out how to text. Tissaia is as cute as she is ridiculous, and probably should not even exist according to all the laws of nature, but those were what people used to tell her she should only bang dudes, and they could fuck right off. Variety is the spice of life, Tissaia is awesome, so there.

“If you’re okay enough to act like a prudish old society wife, you’re okay enough to tell me why you’re staring at your computer like it just slapped your ass.” Actually, no. If the unfortunate piece of hardware had managed such a feat, it would likely be pulverized by the rather unwieldy stack of law books that Tissaia keeps on her desk “for reference,” because she is that sort of nerd.

Tissaia, apparently, is also okay enough to roll her eyes at Rita like she just suggested that she fuck Yennefer on live TV. “Yennefer wishes me a merry Christmas.”

...Really? That’s how she’s going to play this? “Did she do this by sending more nudes? Because normally, people sending you well-wishes don’t make you look like you’re about to choke.” Please let it be more nudes. Maybe Tissaia will decide to  _ do  _ something about them, this time. They’ve kissed now, so it’s basically a done deal, right?

“She decided to do this by donating several million dollars to women’s shelters in my name?” Tissaia’s voice trails off as though she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Yennefer to, well, be herself and say something wildly sexual and, according to Tissaia’s very strange standards, inappropriate. 

“Okay…” Not where she’d expected Yennefer to go with this, but then again why  _ else  _ would she ask Rita about charity instead of her usual habit of blowing up her phone at three am with random questions about Tissaia’s college days or favorite food or whatever people in love care about at ungodly hours? “That sounds like a good thing. To you, at least. You like charity.” In Rita’s opinion, the nudes would have had higher entertainment value, but she will work with this!

“I...Yes. That is true. And I suppose that this does provide a great deal of societal good, regardless of the less than selfless motivations.” Yes, Tissaia. That’s it. Just unclench before you create a fucking diamond by gripping your pencil too hard, and fall into your soulmate’s arms. “I should send a thank you card, probably. Although I don’t have her address. Or phone number. And my DMs...Well.” Of course. Of course, Tissaia isn’t swooning over her girlfriend trying to make her smile, she’s thinking about manners. Where has Rita gone wrong in her teachings of “How Humans Act 101”? And more importantly, how is Tissaia  _ still  _ acting afraid of those fucking photos instead of saving them to every device she owns because  _ hot damn. _

“Just tweet her, then. And then ask her to come over to thank her properly!” 

Tissaia disguises her outraged scoff in a fake coughing fit, or maybe it’s a real one as her brain tries to process having Yennefer over, she’s not sure, but either way, she straightens up after a few moments and nods primly as if nothing happened and she wasn’t just wheezing like an asthmatic. “I will do that. The first suggestion, anyway. It was, after all, a very sweet gesture. Perhaps she’s learning.” Ha. It’s more like “perhaps she’s being coached and also has some chick named Triss acting in place of her self control.” Triss, as far as Rita can tell, is one part angel, one part mother Teresa, and apparently one part lesbian catnip, because she has the two of the hottest women Rita has ever met frenzying over her, albeit in different ways. She’s seen her Instagram, and she’s a little too cute and cuddly for Rita’s tastes, which seem to skew more towards morally ambiguous and dominant these days, but she sees the appeal. 

Tissaia posts whatever she’s been typing so agonizingly slowly like it’s a fucking press release and not a reply to her future wife in front of mobs of people who think she can pretty much do no wrong and puts the phone down. Rita can time exactly when twitter updates to show whatever-it-is because her own phone starts blowing up as The Fans react accordingly. She would bet a lot of people assume their OTP just became canon.

And then it happens. A player a bit larger than the dozens of stan twitter accounts gets involved, and the whole thing devolves into a cyclone of screaming. Or, in less dramatic language, Sabrina decides to announce that Tissaia should stop being such a workaholic since she’s such an advocate for paid vacation time, which Rita agrees with one hundred percent, and perhaps give Yennefer a third date for Christmas. And probably sex too, if the many winking emojis mean anything.

This proves to be a very popular suggestion. Especially with Yennefer, who is blowing up the group chat both to yell at Sabrina for criticizing how her most adored fiance lives her life, and also ask Rita whether Tissaia is likely to go for that and let Yennefer “give her oral for Christmas. Or the strap. Both could be fun!”

Rita, as Tissaia’s best friend and also the person who has to deal with her almost all day, could not be more on board with that suggestion. Please, please if the gods exist, let Yennefer fuck Tissaia’s poor, overworked brains out until she forgets how to be stressed. Christmas is like the perfect time for that. It’s cuffing season, both metaphorically, and if last night’s adventures in getting railed by reporters were anything to go by, literally as well. So Yennefer needs to get on that!

  
  
  


Tissaia does indeed give in and take the rest of the day off in the name of the Christmas spirit. She would consider it more in the name of her sanity because Rita is behaving beyond strangely to the point where Tissaia wonders if whatever occurred with Renfri the night before could have led to an unnoticed concussion, but blaming the holidays is easier than admitting that she’s a bit afraid of a deranged blonde hurricane. 

If Rita didn’t already have a concussion to explain her erratic behavior, after hour two of her ranting and raving about how Yennefer, who had announced that she’d really like that third date and hadn’t left for LA yet, Tissaia was ready to give her one herself and knock her into unconsciousness for some peace and quiet. So here she is. In her house, all alone, with nothing to do because Rita, in a shocking display of competence, had revoked her network access and changed the passwords to her work accounts. She should be fired for that, probably, but if she hadn’t gotten fired for that time she decided to make out with the ambassador to Nilfgaard on her desk during her lunch break was a good idea, then she’s basically tenured as a permanent office fixture at this point. 

For better or for worse. Probably worse. She loves Rita, really she does, but at times like this, she wonders if the woman is somehow influencing her.

Because after attempting to cook herself dinner, reorganizing her entire closet, and puttering about aimlessly until the skies are dark and her restlessness reaches a fever pitch, she’s really, truly considering Yennefer’s offer. Even though she saw her last night. And kissed her last night, then fled the scene. She’s not sure what she’d even  _ do  _ if Yennefer were to appear, but she can’t stop thinking about it. Opening her DMs, ignoring those photos, and telling her yes for once. And then the fantasy is shattered with one very unfortunate truth. It’s not like much is open at this hour unless Tissaia decides to go clubbing for the first time in her life, which means they’d be staying in. Unsupervised. The very thought makes her heart race, and her brain does a merry dance straight into the gutter. She can’t help herself. It’s just that kissing Yennefer, being able to melt into her arms and feel the way she was smiling against her, it  _ did something  _ to Tissaia and now she can’t think straight. Not that she’s, well, straight at all. It’s beside the point, which is that inviting Yennefer to her home would give off the wrong impression and she’s not sure how well she’d do at saying no to the girl’s continual propositions. She only just managed to not do something silly on their first date, she doesn’t want to imagine how much harder to resist Yennefer is in private, without a potential audience.

So yes. She will be staying on her living room sofa in the dark, aimlessly scrolling through social media since Rita didn’t block that, wondering why on earth her furniture is so uncomfortable, and she will not be making any rash decisions. She stands by this resolution until fate intervenes.

By fate, she means Calanthe’s twitter account, because that woman is becoming the reason she does, well, a lot of things and she hates it more than she could ever articulate. The problem is that Calanthe has, by some act of infernal intervention, set eyes on Yennefer’s impromptu date proposal that Tissaia has not responded to, and  announced that Tissaia probably ought to just stay home with a vibrator because she’s obviously determined to die alone.

That stings a bit. She is not  _ trying  _ to shove everyone away from her and avoid all human contact, even though she definitely did that with Yennefer and also did sort of sabotage her relationship with Rita in the name of professionalism, but that is  _ two  _ incidences of self-destructive behavior, and it takes three to make a pattern, so there!

She’s only had two sort-of relationships with women, which is probably the only reason there isn’t a third data point, but so what? She’s an adult, and she can devote her life to a thankless career and people who never listen to her if she wants to! Even if she doesn’t want to! This is getting introspective and confusing, and Tissaia isn’t sure where she was going with this train of thought, but she’s angry and upset and quite lonely all of a sudden. She hates that feeling, and normally she’d dive into some project to eliminate the symptoms but she doesn’t have one thanks to Rita, who she can’t text for fear of admitting that she has no one else to talk to, and she’s popped open her DMs before she can really think about it.

_ The answer is yes. Stop posting. _

Then, as her heart threatens to escape her chest via her throat, she focuses on declaring that since Calanthe’s healthcare policy would just make people die, period, she should perhaps stop “helping” Tissaia and focus on her own family, if they’re even still speaking to her.

No one ever said she was nice when defensive. Or logical when emotional. Because Yennefer has texted her back with enough heart emojis to crash most servers, and then she’s asking where Tissaia is and can she pick her up?

Tissaia sends her home address and tries not to think about how she’s playing with fire as she tells the girl that there’s no need for them to leave her home. Which is just terrifying, now that she thinks about it. Yennefer,  _ that  _ Yennefer, is coming  _ here.  _ She needs to clean  _ everything. _

  
  


Yennefer can tell Tissaia is nervous the second she opens the door to the well-landscaped brownstone she’s apparently chosen to live in but not decorate for the season whatsoever. She’s out of her work clothes, and she wasn’t aware Tissaia de Vries in a v-neck sweater and flats, paralyzed in her own door frame, was something she needed but she looks so soft and this is absolutely precious. 

She doesn’t move or say anything to greet her, standing in the middle of the doorway and blocking Yennefer’s path into the house as if she’s still processing that Yennefer is indeed present. This is really cute, and she is more than happy to guide her girl through whatever gay or hormonal panic this is. Probably by not thinking through anything at all. Instead, she’s just going to walk a bit closer until she’s almost up against Tissaia, reaching out to place her hands on the woman’s narrow hips and push her backward until she’s able to close the damn door and shut them off from the potential view of the outside world because she knows Tissaia is weird about blah blah privacy. Because Yennefer is going to have this go perfectly or else, she may have done her best to make sure that Tissaia’s security team would have nothing to do and all the press would be bothering the poor souls she’d decided deserved it, but one could never be too careful when avoiding the press. While being careful in general isn’t her thing, Tissaia is a reward far too good not to work for, and she wants to see her smile for like, the rest of all time, so she’s going to have to change her behavior or whatever. Just a little. Just not the flirting bit, because that seemed to be getting a response.

“Gonna warm me up, sweetheart?” She drops her coat near the door and lets Tissaia get a proper look at the skin-tight dress she decided to wear under it. It is not at all practical for the frosty weather, and she knows that the neckline is low enough to expose pretty much everything, but when you get invited to your crush’s house on a third date, it sends a certain message and she’d wanted to dress for the occasion. Tissaia responds to the view with a spluttering cough and by turning several shades pinker, but not actually complying with the obvious request to come and kiss her again, which on second thought may not have been obvious enough given who she’s with and her general state of “Oh god what now.” The woman is clearly unsure of how the fuck this is supposed to work and it’s just so endearing because clearly inviting Yennefer over here took all the courage she had for the day. That’s fine! She appreciates the effort, and now it is her turn to organize this.

So she decides to make things a little easier on Tissaia, kicking her heels off and dropping onto the couch. “Come here, babe. Unless you like me towering over you, which is hot.” To the surprise of exactly no one, height jokes are what it takes to jolt Tissaia out of her stupor and encourage her to get closer to Yennefer, who pulls her down and into her lap the second she’s in range, Tissaia falling into her arms with a surprised shriek and zero coordination, nearly knocking their heads together. Yennefer grins up at her, admiring the crease in her brow as she surveys the new position. “Miss me?”

“It’s only been a day, my dear, and you’ve made your presence felt over social media-mmph!” Is she rushing things, kissing Tissaia again the second she’s in the door? Yes. But Tissaia is so perfect, and her weight feels so good in Yennefer’s lap. The sweater is soft under her hands, and this time Tissaia isn’t wearing a coat large enough to shelter half of the city so she can actually feel the curves of her waist and hips. It’s exquisite, and Tissaia seems to lose all of her motivation to keep talking, instead choosing to wrap her arms around Yennefer’s neck and kissing her back with great enthusiasm. Tissaia is so desperate for her, clutching at her like she’s drowning, and every time Yennefer’s hands brush over a particularly sensitive stretch of her back she lets out the most adorable noises. Yennefer decides that while Tissaia’s “You’re an idiot” voice may be sexy, and may indeed be so sexy it started this entire affair, the sinful groan she lets out when Yennefer stops resisting the urge to drop her hands to the swell of her ass and squeeze is infinitely better.

She moves her lips from Tissaia’s mouth to her neck and the reaction is immediate. Tissaia’s thighs clamp down tight around Yennefer’s legs as if she’s worried Yennefer will try to escape. Without Yennefer covering her mouth, she’s suddenly so much louder, and the little whimpering noises she makes as Yennefer sucks at her throat are the greatest thing she’s ever heard in her life.

“Okay, how long has it been since someone touched you, first of all, and second would it be presumptuous to ask you to take your shirt off?”

  
  


Tissaia does not answer either of those questions, both because she’s forgotten how to speak coherently at this point, and also because she just doesn’t want to. She’s embarrassed by the answer to the first, because the length of her little celibate streak is just ridiculous, and the answer to the second is very unclear at this point. She doesn’t know the rules of this sort of thing. She assumed  _ Yennefer  _ would know whether that was appropriate behavior. Or something like that, anyway. Thinking about this too much is making her stomach swoop like a drunken bat, and so she’s officially not going to bother with this idiotic train of thought, because if Rita were here, and thank all the gods she isn’t because her commentary would be horrifying, she’d probably insist there  _ aren’t  _ any rules for this and that Tissaia is being a complete moron. Which she is.

Instead of continuing her descent into madness, she pulls her top over her head in a moment of complete impulsiveness and lets it fall to the floor. Yennefer is grinning at her like this is easily the greatest thing to ever happen, and while being shirtless in front of a movie star is quite nerve-wracking it’s not hard to enjoy the attention. Because Yennefer is staring, quite a lot, and her grip on Tissaia’s backside tightens to drag her forward until they’re almost nose to nose.

“Why can’t my co-stars look like you? Holy shit, Tissaia.” She’s blushing. She can feel the heat rising in her face, and it’s very uncomfortable because politicians aren’t supposed to blush, damn it all! But when Yennefer starts resting her pretty face on Tissaia’s cleavage to run her lips and tongue over the swell of her chest while those wicked hands keep kneading against her, it’s hard not to. Really, really hard. Although it probably doesn’t matter at this point, because she has already embarrassed herself around this woman more than she thought possible, and it all feels so  _ good _ , but also she’s sitting in the lap of the most beautiful woman on the planet and she hasn’t gotten to see anything yet. She senses this may be slightly unfair, and more importantly, based on Yennefer’s past behavior, it is a situation she might be able to fix.

“Yennefer-Oh,  _ yes _ ! Take your dress off. Please. I want to see you.” Any attempt at sounding authoritative or persuasive or anything other than a breathy, hormonal mess is ruined as Yennefer looks her directly in the eye and bites down on her breast mid-sentence, soothing the sting with her soft tongue while refusing to drop her gaze. Yennefer turns her into a mess in general, clearly, but there is nothing to be done about that at the moment.

Yennefer smiles up at her and doesn’t move at all. “I do like it when you use that word. How about we go up to your bedroom, because you’re not supposed to fuck girls you want to marry on tiny couches, and then we both take off everything?”

“Deal.” She’s going to ignore the marriage comment and any strange, warm feelings it spawns. She’s going to!


	12. And Then They Had Sex, Like Y'all Have Been Waiting For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's sex. Does anything else really need to be said?

Sabrina is not the sort of woman who describes herself as a team player. There are a variety of reasons for this, but the largest is certainly that she’s never willingly joined a team in her life because dealing with the whims of other humans is a task better left to personal assistants and those who choose to become mothers, both of which she is not. So when Yennefer requested if she could pretty please, oh, just take over her social media accounts for the rest of the day and possibly tomorrow morning as well so that everyone assumes Yennefer is out and about and not boning a senator, she’s tempted to either laugh in her face or ruin her life with this new and exciting opportunity.

Yennefer is also not a team player because she is a heinous bitch, and that’s why when she asks this, Triss is on the damn call, leaving her no choice but to agree and behave herself so that Triss doesn’t stop viewing her through rose-tinted glasses and stop letting Sabrina flirt with her. Yennefer is the absolute worst. Triss, however, is lovely. Exceptionally so, and she immediately volunteered to assist Sabrina with this surprise task, claiming it was “the least she could do.” The poor thing was in a legitimate frenzy over the possibility that Yennefer was taking up all her spare time, and the concern makes her feel all sorts of annoying fuzzy things. And lust. Lots of that, because she’s not the sort of woman to postpone seducing beautiful women, but in this case, she’s been all but forced into making an exception. 

Sabrina, because she is a very self-serving creature, accepted this offer before Triss was even finished giving it. Having Triss camp out in her hotel room with her while Yennefer roams the streets of DC with her lady love is an excellent way to spend her time. And if Triss thinks she’s a good person for “helping” and letting Yennefer act like romantic mush that won’t stop going on about making this perfect for Tissaia, all the better.

So here they are. Yennefer is on her little date, people are probably going to start wondering where she or dear Tissaia are currently located, and Sabrina is oh so selflessly going to redirect them. Triss brought an entire binder full of publicist something-or-other to guide them through this idiotic quest, which Sabrina is going to ignore in favor of posting whatever amuses her, and also trying to make Triss do that  _ thing  _ when she’s scandalized that involves her trying to make herself as small as possible, which really is funny given that she’s a giant. 

Obviously, this means following Yennefer’s ideas more than Triss’s, but that’s fine because she’s pretending to be Yennefer and people would get suspicious if she suddenly started sounding smart or like a functional adult. So instead, she’s got a massive list of potential tweets, and the instruction to perhaps if she feels like it, make sure Calanthe Tuirseach has a very bad day. And because Sabrina generally approves of ruining the days and lives of people who are not her, she’d agreed with Yennefer. Huh. Hell must have frozen over. 

Just because she agreed with Yennefer on one tiny thing, however, does not mean she doesn’t go a bit rogue. She’s fairly certain Yennefer didn’t say anything about  _ not  _ calling Vilgefortz impotent, so she’s pretty sure she’s in the right there because knowing Yenna she’s still mad at him for flirting with Tissaia. But she has less of an excuse for announcing that there is a Calanthe and Eist sex tape floating around the internet and that Yennefer will be suing for psychological damages. Luckily, Triss hadn’t arrived yet, and her rampage was yet to be cut short in favor of seeing how many times she could “accidentally” touch Triss over the course of the evening. The point is, people are awfully worked up about the shit “Yennefer” has said, and not where she is. Though they’re about to be, probably.

“What are you doing?” Triss peers over Sabrina’s shoulder at the laptop in front of them, where Sabrina has been refreshing the google search of Calanthe’s name obsessively. Because Triss doesn’t necessarily know it yet, but before Yennefer had handed over her twitter password and the keys to her own destruction, she’d posted her own little opening salvo to set the tone for their little foray into identity theft. 

“Waiting for it.” She hits refresh again. Still nothing. What is  _ taking  _ so long?

“What, exactly, is ‘it,’ and should I be concerned?” Sabrina grins, lying on her side in this ridiculously massive bed to face Triss and appear as provocative as possible because they are alone in a hotel room and it’s giving her ideas. Ideas that seem to be shared, if Triss’s valiant effort to keep her eyes above her neck has been interpreted correctly.

“The press doesn’t think Yennefer is at Tissaia’s place, darling.”

Triss huffs in mild annoyance. “Right. That’s the entire point of this?”

“Oh no. I mean that they think she’s somewhere else right now.” Specifically, they think that everyone’s favorite chaotic lunatic is currently on the property of one Calanthe Tuirseach with several cartons of eggs while intoxicated, suggesting that by this lovely hour, a great deal of the press corps will by lying in wait on the aforementioned temperamental bitch’s lawn, hoping to photograph Yennefer egging her home, or hopefully the woman herself. 

“Sabrina, what did you do?” 

“Oh, I didn’t do anything.” Yet. Though she’d like to. “This was all dear Yennefer’s idea. Oh, look. Here we go.”

A link to a live feed appears on the screen, and Sabrina leans in closer to Triss as they watch a somewhat terrified Renfri Creyden leap into Calanthe’s meticulously-landscaped hedges. She is not alone in this decision, reporters fleeing in terror like rabbits before a hawk, though most of them don’t pop right up out of the shrubbery with a mischievous smirk to begin a round of verbal character assassination.

“Does she have a  _ gun _ ?” Triss shoves her way closer to the screen, with the delightful side effect of pressing herself up against a very pleased Sabrina. She’s not all soft like Triss, or even Yennefer these days, but she likes cuddling just like everyone else. Sue her.

“It would appear so. Apparently, a free press isn’t on her reelection platform.” Sabrina attempts to be glib, but the situation on screen is somewhat concerning. She really isn’t sure how Calanthe had opened her front door to survey her domain or collect the very large box Yennefer had shipped over or  _ whatever _ , seen a battalion of cameramen, and decided “Yes, let’s wave around a shotgun.” Even  _ she  _ wouldn’t do that, and she has been in jail five times for attempted assault. So, Calanthe is officially batshit, and Sabrina is a little worried about this Renfri chick. Because her articles are actually interesting, and because Yennefer’s little accomplice chick is banging her, and if she’s all mopey because her girlfriend got shot, then Yenenfer will start bitching, and it’ll be a massive headache.

“...Has anyone ever made her take a psychological evaluation? Anyone at all? Because I’m fairly certain stable people don’t attempt to...What the hell?” They watch in morbid fascination as senator Tuirseach lets off some steam by shooting Yennefer’s Christmas gift several times, which was a horrible choice because while that box may contain a truly concerning amount of erectile dysfunction medications, it also contains glitter. Lots and lots of glitter. And when the box is hit with a high-velocity projectile, that glitter is sent up in the air, into the wind, and into the enraged woman’s face. This does nothing to improve her mood, and though the footage is grainy, she can make out the middle finger she proudly hoists at the collected audience, before yelling something along the lines of “get off my lawn.” Now, it contains a lot more curse words than that, and she’s pretty sure she hears a threat to shove her weapon up someone’s ass, but at that point, Sabrina’s attention span pivots away from the deranged nut with a gun and towards Triss, who is still staring in horror and not paying attention to her. That’s unacceptable because the whole reason she agreed to this was to get Triss’s attention, and Calanthe fucking Tuirseach is  _ not  _ more interesting than her!

“I’m going to announce that Yennefer is running for office if someone like that can get elected.”

“Don’t you  _ dare. _ ” 

She continues on as if Triss hadn’t spoken. “It’ll be fun! We can accuse them of bribery next, or something. Who knows, it might be true.”

“Oh, my gods. That’s it. Give me your phone, Yennefer had to be insane to give you her twitter password.” Uh, yeah. Yennefer is nuts. They knew that already! Sabrina grins, waving her cell phone in front of Triss. It’s already too late, but if she tries to confiscate it anyway, that just means they can’t write any more tweets and will have to find another way to entertain themselves. Oh no!

  
  


Yennefer, while Sabrina is busy attempting a very questionable seduction, is focused on getting Tissaia naked. Immediately. The trek to her bedroom was a short one, but it felt like a small eternity, because while instinctually Yennefer was tempted to careen through Tissaia’s home and drag her to bed, Tissaia seems a bit more reserved, and so instead she falls into step behind Tissaia, her hand in Yennefer’s, as Tissaia leads her upstairs. She’s the closest to shy Yennefer has ever seen her pulling her through the doorway, and it’s impossible not to kiss her so that’s just what she does. Yennefer towers over her this way and can place a firm hand under Tissaia’s chin to bring her face up, and it’s just wonderful. Her hormones are singing the song of their people, she thinks she might be having heart palpitations, and she’s positive that her underwear is damp and she’d really like to make Tissaia fulfill her promise to take everything off. 

She pulls away to unzip her dress, and Tissaia lets out a sharp noise that she thinks is meant to communicate surprise or annoyance. “Where do you think you’re going?”   
  
Annoyance it is, then. She can’t help but feel proud of herself for that. “To take this dress off. You should get rid of that skirt while I’m doing that.” And hopefully everything else. Please dear gods let her take the hint and just take off all of it. 

She lets the dress fall from her shoulders and waits, watching Tissaia remove and then fold her clothes because she’s adorable like that and almost wriggling in anticipation as she waits to regain Tissaia’s attention. Sure enough, when she turns back to Yennefer she freezes without a word. This gives Yennefer a priceless opportunity to look at her properly for the first time because she hasn’t been nearly as liberal in the naughty photo department as Yennefer. 

“Oh, dear gods,” Tissaia groans, and okay, the way her voice has dropped a full octave is just delicious. Yennefer grins, arching her back in the hopes of providing a better view. Tissaia’s eyes rove over her body like she can’t quite choose where to look, and it is a sentiment Yennefer both understands and returns.

When she first saw Tissaia, she’d compared her to a marble statue breathed to life. She’d been wrong. Marble is cold and stark and lifeless, and it bears no comparison with the flesh and blood woman before her. Tissaia may be cold at times, but her skin is flushed and wisps of her hair gather on her neck from where they’ve escaped her coiffe. Yennefer can see the way her chest rises and falls unevenly as she tries to steady her breathing, the way she shifts her weight under Yennefer’s gaze as if she’s somehow worried about how Yennefer sees her. Her lips are swollen and wet, parted slightly as Tissaia takes her in, and Yennefer wants to kiss them again so badly it hurts. Soon, but not quite yet. She doesn’t want to tear her eyes away from the smooth skin in front of her, the legs that seem to stretch on for miles even though they clearly don’t because Tissaia is tiny enough that Yennefer could probably pick her up. The soft swell of her breasts, nipples stiff in the cool air. The plane of her stomach, and lower to where she’s crossed an arm over her waist as if there’s anything to be self-conscious about.

“I was definitely right to start tweeting about how gorgeous you are.”

“Gorgeous or not, that was so very over the line- _ Mmmm… _ ”

Yennefer has decided that kissing Tissaia to make her stop talking is the best thing ever. It’s even better like this, skin on bare skin. Tissaia throws her arms around Yennefer’s neck to pull her closer, and the way her breasts brush against her own is just heaven. Yennefer starts walking forward blindly, too focused on destroying Tissaia’s elaborate hairdo to steer them, but it does the job because within a few steps Tissaia bumps into the bed and falls backward.

While Yennefer would love to just stay standing above her and enjoy the view, she also wants Tissaia to stop pouting at her, so more contact it is! She surges forward, and then  Tissaia is pinned beneath her, grinding against her thigh in a mindless quest for friction. Yennefer doesn’t think she even realizes she’s doing it, because the poor thing is far too focused on ravaging Yennefer’s mouth, but it’s very cute and is almost enough to tempt her into getting Tissaia off right now, to hell with seducing her properly.

But no. She is going to make sure that Tissaia can’t think of tonight without needing to change her panties, and that means taking her time. With a body like this to play with, that’s hardly a tragedy.

Tissaia’s breasts feel so good under her hands. She’s got her tongue in Yennefer’s mouth, muffled exclamations escaping her lips with every roll of her hips. Yennefer has to wonder why she didn’t bring her strap. She should have. Being able to be inside of Tissaia, with her mouth and hands free to keep touching her? That would be bliss.

Having her come all over her face and then maybe another couple times on her fingers in the bathtub before falling asleep in her arms will also do nicely.

Tissaia is starting to wonder if this has just been a very strange, very sexy dream. Because there’s no way she’s actually naked with Yennefer in her bed and no one’s called her with a crisis yet. That’s impossible unless someone has decided to commit career suicide and everyone is focused on them. In which case she should absolutely be available. Where was her phone, and why the fuck is she thinking about this right now? It feels so good, having someone touching her, and she didn’t realize she’d missed something as silly as being held but apparently she was getting sentimental in her old age. 

Yennefer pulls away from her lips and she’s almost worried that she’s done something horribly wrong and that Yennefer had sensed her distraction before the woman grabs her thighs and pushes them up by her sides with a wicked smile. She feels so exposed, and Yennefer is staring down at her soaked slit like it’s some kind of meal and dear gods how does she make everything she does so hot?

“Don’t try to stay quiet. I really mean that.” She lowers herself between Tissaia’s thighs, nuzzling sweetly against the soft skin with her cheek before biting down hard. Tissaia shrieks, because that fucking  _ hurts _ , and Yennefer winks at her before she runs her warm tongue over the stinging flesh. Gods, she’s a tease.

“Yennefer, please.” She’s not sure what she’s asking for. Please fuck me is the most obvious, but she’d also settle for please behave.

“How about this. I will spend the rest of the night doing whatever you like, no matter how kinky or perverted. And in return, you’re mine. Sound fair?”

“Feeling a bit possessive?” Her answer is meant to stall for time a bit. It’s the only thing she can think to do because her brain is in a state of system overload. What did being Yenenfer’s even mean? Does she care? Probably not, but one doesn’t agree to things without reading the terms and conditions first!

Yennefer rakes her nails down Tissaia’s legs, bringing her back to earth with a low hiss of pain. “Yes. Because let’s face it, you already adore me. I just want you to admit it. Is that really so difficult?” Her lips are inches from Tissaia’s clit. She can feel arousal dripping from her cunt and she also knows Yennefer can see it. Fuck! “It’s not like it’s a one-sided thing, I promise but come on. You’re the one who’s been making this difficult, it’s only fair.” She sticks out her tongue and sweeps it over Tissaia’s entrance, refusing to go anywhere near where she really needs it. And gods does she need it.

“Fine! I’m yours. Please fuck me.”

  
  


Yennefer grins. See? That’s all she’d wanted, and now she’s going to make Tissaia forget her own name.

She brushes her tongue over Tissaia’s clit before sucking hard. And oh, the little cry of pleasure she makes is just adorable. She shoves Tissaia open wider, flattening her tongue and lapping at Tissaia’s clit until her hips are twitching and she’s gasping for breath. Gods, she’s just so fucking gorgeous.

Tissaia’s first orgasm, and yes she’s saying the first one because no way are they stopping yet, happens almost immediately, and Yennefer has to wonder just how long Tissaia has avoided getting laid. Should she be worried? It’s hard to be anything but smug as Tissaia comes against her lips with a soft moan. Her body goes limp, and there’s an adorably dreamy smile on her face like she’s forgotten that outside this bedroom she’d win an award for the world’s most tightly wound person. It’s perfect. However, Yennefer is not done, because Tissaia isn’t shoving her away yet. So instead of releasing Tissaia, she drags one of her thighs over her shoulder before diving back in.

“Yennefer, what are you- _ Fuck! _ ” Uh huh, that’s the general idea! Tissaia tastes so good, and her hips buck against Yennefer’s face whenever she hits an angle she likes, and Yennefer is positive she could stay here for the rest of her life and be perfectly happy. Tissaia’s hands move from clutching at the sheets to wrap in Yennefer’s hair, so gentle even as she writhes beneath her, and when Yennefer looks up the expression on her face is one of sheer bliss. It’s definitely good for her ego, and even better for her determination to get Tissaia off again.

Yennefer can tell Tissaia is close when those pretty eyes finally flutter shut, when she moans Yennefer’s name like it’s a prayer. The tendons in her neck stand out in stark relief as every muscle in her body tenses like a bow about to be fired. Yennefer picks up the pace, flattening her tongue over Tissaia’s swollen clit and flicking over it as fast as she can.

When Tissaia finally falls apart, she isn’t screaming for her. Instead, she collapses against the bed, caressing Yennefer’s hair distractedly. She drags herself up to hover over Tissaia’s body, but the woman doesn’t seem to register the change. Her eyes are glassy and unfocused, but she’s still smiling when she finally notices Yennefer above her, a hand reaching up to cup her face and pull her in for a soft kiss.

Well then. Tissaia gets affectionate and cuddly post-orgasm. This is a fantastic discovery.

Tissaia swears she just needs a few minutes and then she’ll return the favor, even if she’s suddenly too tired to move, which she hopes is a symptom of her questionable sleep schedule and not just something that happens after sex when you’re no longer in your twenties. Fuck it. If she finds herself unable to use certain limbs, she can always have Yennefer ride her face.

Yennefer, however, seems less than bothered by the fact that her body refuses to let her follow basic sex etiquette. “You’re so pretty like this. How long is it gonna take you to want another one, hmm?” Tissaia can’t help but roll her eyes at that. What she wants is to touch the beautiful woman. It’s not complicated.

“Come here. I want to get you off.” Yennefer looks down at her, smiles to herself, and then refuses to shift from her position lying on top of Tissaia. She tries to move her, but the woman won’t budge. She’s stuck because Tissaia is not one for gyms, Yennefer has a bit of a size advantage, and generally trying to force Yennefer to get up is a bit like trying to push a car home by yourself in high-heels after a night out. “Yennefer. What are you doing?”

“You’re tired. I can tell. Just stay down for a bit, relax. I’m a patient girl.” Is Yennefer positive? Because if they are thinking of the same woman, Tissaia is confused. Yennefer has never been patient. Ever. She’s been blowing up Tissaia’s twitter page for weeks!

“You said anything I wanted, remember? Up you get.”

“Okay, fine. I did promise. But this is supposed to be about you.”

Right. Well, that was sweet but intensely misguided, since Tissaia doesn’t remember agreeing to that at all. “I don’t care. Now, do as I say.”

When she puts it like that, Yennefer is helpless to resist. Not that she’s desperate to do so. She’s a naturally selfish person, and if Tissaia wants to get her off so badly, she’s not going to object. At all. And the way Tissaia’s hands feel stroking her thighs as Yennefer settles above her is lovely.

And then she drags herself up and Yennefer’s heart nearly stops. Being able to watch Tissaia de Vries eat her pussy is possibly the most arousing thing to ever happen to her, and then her fingers brush against her entrance and please fuck yes.

“I want you inside of me, babe. Please?” Tissaia appears happy to oblige her, sliding two fingers inside her torturously slowly. Yennefer moans at the sensation and the tightening in her abdomen as Tissaia begins to move faster, encouraging Yennefer to grind against her. She can barely control her own movements, reaching up with one hand to rub her nipples while the other clutches the bed frame to keep her steady. Tissaia is as relentless in driving Yennefer over the edge as she is in anything else, and when her orgasm finally hits, she swears her vision goes white for a few seconds as crazy as that sounds. One second she’s pleading with Tissaia to fuck her harder, and the next Tissaia is guiding her down onto the bed and telling her she’s a good girl, and Yennefer can’t recall the bit in the middle. Which sucks, because she thinks it was pretty fantastic if the fact that she can’t feel her legs is any indication.

This means she’s back besides Tissaia, which to her somewhat nonfunctional brain is a fantastic thing because it means she gets to touch her more. It’s good for her, probably. All but living in the office has gotta have left her a little touch starved. This theory is confirmed when Tissaia ends up wrapping her legs around Yennefer’s waist and her arms around her back as if she’s concerned that Yennefer will lose what remains of her judgment and commit the grave sin of trying to get up. Which she’s not going to do, for the record. Cuddling Tissaia is exactly how she wants to be spending her evening. She’s so perfect here, smiling and not trying to escape and holding Yennefer close. She’d be even more perfect riding her hand, but Yennefer can wait for that. After all, it would appear her date is a bit sleepy, and she’s reminded that while she is used to attending parties and getting up just fine the next morning to do it all again, Tissaia is not, and also it’s one in the morning, and her date is tired. Like, falling asleep right here tired. And while Yennefer would happily have sex all night, this works too. It just means Tissaia should not go to work tomorrow. Maybe Rita will tell her the building had a gas leak or something, and she’ll have to stay home. Yennefer will make sure she’s sufficiently distracted. Maybe give her a nice massage. She’s so tense, it’s a wonder she hasn’t had a heart attack yet, and that is just not allowed to happen because they’re going to live happily ever after now.


	13. The Morning After, The Morning Before, And The Morning During

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The buildup to sex, someone else's ongoing sex, and yet another pair's post-sex shenanigans. I don't know what to tell you all besides I'm sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. The lingerie set briefly mentioned in this chapter is from a photo shoot Anna Schaffer did that made me 192% gayer. Definitely look it up.

The sun is streaming through the gauzy hotel curtains, the blue light of the alarm clock next to her claims it is eight am, the most preposterous hour to be awake known to man, and Triss is still either asleep or just not moving on top of both the blankets and Sabrina. She is still in all her clothes because she’d fallen asleep in Sabrina’s arms, not after round after round of filthy sex, but after their little “watch the chaos and tweet” session. It had then become an accidental sleepover because Triss was awfully cute while passed out and Sabrina made the executive decision not to let her leave. She is also starting to think Yennefer forgot about them. She truly understands, and congratulations to the bitch for getting laid and all that, but they both know forgetting about Sabrina is something you should  _ never  _ do. Ever.

“Hey.” Triss’s voice is low and gravelly with sleep. Not unconscious, then. But still cuddling up to Sabrina. This is classified by Sabrina’s covetous brain as very important. 

“Good morning, darling. Sleep well?”

“Mmm-hmm. You’re comfy.” Triss stretches out before adjusting the hand wrapped around Sabrina’s stomach until they’re pressed up against each other. She’s so warm, and Sabrina can feel her breathing against her, and altogether it’s a very sweet rom-com type of moment. Sabrina, however, has never been cast in one of those for a reason, and that is because she tends to ski romance and head right into perversion and drama. Her very unhelpful brian is listing ways she could take advantage of this situation, kiss the pretty but very naive girl, and then have her out of her clothes and wrapped around Sabrina’s fingers by noon, which is not good. Her brain needs to shut up. Probably? Ethics are the worst, and so is her stupid moral compass and heart for making their joint reappearance now of all times.

“If you wanted a pillow for the evening, you should have told me to take this shirt off.” Sabrina is a woman who knows her own assets, and given the way that Triss tends to stare and is now resting her pretty face on Sabrina’s tits, she can safely assume that they are one of them. And that’s great, because she’s been taking advantage of that since she was a teenager, and if Triss got with the program she could spend the rest of the day with her face between them. So hopefully, she finds the cheat code to convince the angel she’s half seduced to just stop being adorable and let Sabrina make her feel good before they’re both old and grey.

“I-Uh. I mean. That’s...Very nice of you.” Triss is malfunctioning. Triss is malfunctioning, and getting to the level of embarrassment where she shuts down and stops letting Sabrina touch her instead of the far more fun lesser levels where Sabrina gets to kiss her cheek and tease her. She can tell that Triss is malfunctioning because she is committing the grave sin of getting up and that is just not acceptable. What if she tries to leave? So Sabrina takes drastic measures. She grabs Triss’s wrist, pulls until Triss is bent over the bed and looking down at Sabrina like she’s nuts, and proceeds to kiss her senseless. This time there is no Yennefer to dump a handful of snow down her shirt, and she doesn’t have to drop Triss off at her door because that’s what Wikipedia said you did on first dates. No, now she can touch Triss however she likes without interruption, and it is exactly as good as she’d imagined. But unfortunately, her endgame is convincing her to stay, not kissing her goodbye. So she is forced to pull back.    
  


“I’m going to take a shower. You’re welcome to join me because I’d love to see the work of art you’re hiding under all this, but if you’d rather scurry off to grab some of your own clothes before breakfast instead of just borrowing mine I’ll understand.” Or she could just not wear anything. Always a possibility!

Triss seems to get a bit hung up on the shower sharing idea, mouth dropping open and hands flailing as if to communicate some unspoken point before she finally gives up and sits back down to wait for further instructions. This is exactly what she wanted because she knows getting Triss naked right now isn’t an option, but getting her to come back to this room instead of hiding certainly is. “What would you like? I’ll order, we can eat here and try to ensure Yennefer’s inevitable walk of shame isn’t all over page one of every shit gossip rag on the continent.” Normally, Sabrina would send the reporters to Tissaa’s home herself, but this is for her hormones, and possibly her heart too, so her characteristic spiteful streak will have to shut the fuck up for once. 

“I want you!-Um. Just-Just ignore that, please?” Uh, no. No, that will absolutely be coming up again. But fine, she’ll play along so that Triss, who is currently refusing to look at anything other than the ceiling, doesn’t combust.

“Whatever you like, Triss. If you’d like to flee the room now, feel free to do so, but if you’re not back in an hour I’ll assume you’ve been kidnapped and react accordingly.” Triss seizes the excuse to flee with both hands, scurrying out of the room before Sabrina can get another kiss in. This is unfortunate, but it also means she has about an hour to check twitter unsupervised and debate whether being naked in this bed by the time Triss returns would be likely to get her what she wants or not. She is leaning towards yes, but there is time for more sensible and also boring minds to prevail.

Twitter is a cesspit, as she had expected. What is less expected, and is in fact borderline concerning, is that Yennefer’s fans have caught on to the fact that while their idol is rather fond of posting selfies every fucking day, it is now almost noon and that hasn’t happened. Because she’s probably not come up for air while eating Tissaia out if she were to guess, but it puts Sabrina in a rather irritating position. Because while she may be a very capable woman, she looks nothing like Yennefer and neither does Triss, meaning her ability to fake a “Look! I’m in a hotel minding my own business” picture is nonexistent. So, fuck it. She’s gonna take a shower, and maybe a solution will appear and maybe it won’t, but she’s got a girl to look pretty for and Yennefer has already gotten enough of her valuable time, thank you very much.

  
  


Triss is maybe panicking heavily. Over so many things, but the most pressing is that she thinks she may have propositioned Sabrina, and she thinks she meant it. Or well, she’s definitely attracted to her and wants to have sex with her at some point, but whether now is the time is very confusing! 

With anyone else, the answer would have been “absolutely not.” From a comfort and familiarity perspective if nothing else. But it’s extraordinarily easy to allow her brain to turn into unresponsive mush around Sabrina, and she’s discovered that in the absence of her usual overthinking, her hormones have seized control of her brain.

This is her excuse for getting out of the shower and puzzling over what to wear for a good thirty minutes while she does her makeup. Because her brain has decided that saving Yennefer’s girlfriend’s peace of mind is a date. 

The issue is that she did not really pack for this trip expecting any dates, much less crashing the DC social event of the season and then spending a full day with her crush and maybe-girlfriend. She has snow gear, because she may have actually decided to dress for the weather, a few blouses and sweaters she’d considered appropriate for any emergency meetings or press conferences, and one dress she already wore. 

She also has a lingerie set that Yennefer had stuffed into her suitcase, and that she neglected to remove. For reasons. She has no idea why she didn’t, because she only purchased the damn thing on a shopping trip with Yennefer after a great deal of emotional blackmail. It is scarlet and includes a garter belt and she could barely try the thing on without going through seven stages of embarrassment because she may have a nice body but that doesn’t mean she’s entirely comfortable wearing the clothing equivalent of “Hey, look at me!” It was a waste of money, even if Yennefer being quiet is worth quite a bit, and she’s still berating herself as she wriggles into the bra and tries to ignore how see-through the lace is. This is stupid. This is so incredibly stupid, and she and Sabrina are probably just going to post a bunch of tweets and not remove any articles of clothing, so she shouldn’t even be putting this much effort in, but she can’t help it. She needs any kind of confidence boost she can get right now, and knowing that if she does sort of lose her mind around Sabrina and end up without her clothes she won’t look utterly ridiculous is somewhat helpful. Sort of. Even though now she’s just thinking of Sabrina undressing her and gets the bizarre thought that somehow she’s wearing this all wrong and looks ridiculous. 

She is being ridiculous, not looking that way. She is standing in front of a mirror, for goodness sake, and she knows this looks right. It’s just very, very exposing, and she’s never worn stockings in her life but she will admit that her legs look very nice in them, even if she is going to be wearing pants and Sabrina may never even find out about this. Actually, that would be kind of hysterical, Sabrina with all her flirting and really embarrassing suggestions not realizing what’s right in front of her. 

Somehow that thought cheers her up a bit, and she’s able to throw on the pair of pants and the blouse that looks like they belong in her office the least. They still definitely look like work clothes, but what else can she really do? Show up in just this and her coat, then drop the thing at the door?

She could do that. And if she were a braver, more impulsive woman, if she were  _ Yennefer _ , she might do that, but she is most decidedly not Yennefer so this is already exceeding her capability for impulse decisions.

Knocking on the door to Sabrina’s room is petrifying. She’s mentally attacking herself for her life choices the entire way there, and then the second she announces her presence she regrets it because now she can’t run back and change or climb out the window and change her name or something. And then the door is opening, and Sabrina grabs her by her belt to drag her inside, and Triss feels a smile creeping onto her face because Sabrina grinning at her just has that sort of effect. 

“You didn’t decide to run away after all?”

Uh. No. No, she did not do that, though she suddenly feels as if that might have been a wise choice. 

“You look...Wow.” This is not the most articulate thought she’s ever expressed. But frankly, if she had any doubts this was a date, she doesn’t have them anymore. She was not aware they even  _ sold  _ heels this high, but Sabrina is somehow taller than her now, and Triss isn’t sure how she managed to travel with this dress and avoid getting any wrinkles in it, but she did and now she’s inches away from Triss in forest green silk that barely reaches her thighs and looks more like something you’d wear to bed or in a very risque photoshoot then outside of the house. So yes, she is indeed staring a bit, but the fabric brings out the color of Sabrina’s eyes and her hair is out of its braid and looks so soft and perhaps she’s acting like a gay disaster, but in her defense, she’s only human, with all the hormones that tends to include, and she’s having a heart attack. 

“You are just adorable when you blush.” Well, that’s good, because she finds herself doing that a lot with Sabrina. Like, way more than she’d like.

“Uh, thanks. How’s…” Yennefer? The complete shitshow that is Calanthe? The approximate level of chaos constantly bubbling on twitter? “Has everything fallen apart yet?”

“Oh no, people still think she’s asleep. I think? It’s been quiet.” Sabrina takes her hand and walks them over to the bed, which is just a bit suggestive and it’s making her feel all kinds of ways, and perhaps Triss’s ridiculously hormonal brain starts shouting suggestions like “pull her skirt over her thighs and get on your knees.” This is a nice idea, but again, timing exists and technically they made a promise to a friend to pay attention here!

“Good. Quiet is good. Though surprising.” Really, going a full hour without a crisis is almost unheard of, Triss muses as she sits down on the edge of the bed. Sabrina has grabbed her laptop and sprawled out in the middle of the thing, reaching out to beckon Triss closer, and really it’s impossible to argue so she doesn’t try. Instead, she kicks off her shoes and crawls up to sink into the pillows next to her, and wow their faces are very close together. Sabrina is grinning like this was the plan all along, the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in Triss’s stomach are throwing a dance battle, and everything is a bit too much. So she does what any sane person overwhelmed with strange feelings would do. She leans forward, cups Sabrina’s jaw in her hand, and kisses her before she decides to say anything stupid like “Is this a date?”

She barely notices when the laptop falls to the floor, because Sabrina is climbing on top of her like they don’t have any sort of job right now, and Triss is inclined to let her. Yennefer keeps telling her to be selfish for once, so this is totally justified! Sabrina tastes like the honey she dumps into her tea, and her lips are soft, and she knows she’s going to be covered in whatever no doubt expensive cosmetics Sabrina is wearing but she doesn’t exactly care. She’s so small, and it’s so much easier to notice that when she’s not busy playing the larger than life persona that is Sabrina Glessivig,  _ saying things  _ and giving Triss miniature heart attacks. It would be so easy to roll them over and pin her to the bed, but to be honest, she has no desire to do that. This is beyond nice, and for once they don’t have some sort of audience or deadline, and while Yennefer is still a bit of an elephant in the room they can ignore her for once. She trails her hands up to rest on Sabrina’s hips, and this dress is riding up so much that she can feel bare skin under her palms. She freezes. What is the rule for accidentally grabbing someone’s ass? Is she supposed to apologize? Technically this is Sabrina’s fault for not wearing underwear, and wow that gives her some thoughts, so she can’t be mad, right? Sabrina is still kissing her, so she’s assuming she hasn't committed some secret faux pas here.

“Triss. Stop thinking. I can literally feel you freaking out.” Sabrina hovers above her, some sort of nymph or dryad stolen from the canvas of a renaissance painting, golden hair glowing in the fluorescents like a halo. Triss nods, no words escaping. She doesn’t  _ want  _ to be thinking right now, it just sort of  _ happens,  _ but thinking about how beautiful Sabrina is isn’t unpleasant at all.

“I’m sorry?” It’s all she can think to say, which is ridiculous because she’s always apologizing and she hates it, but it seems like the safe thing to do, and she hates that too. 

“Oh, for-Baby. I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to stop minding your manners. Permanently, if at all possible. And then I want to spend the rest of the morning in bed with you, preferably wearing far less, but that’s your call.”

Right. Okay. That was-That sounded pretty fantastic, actually. Triss grins, a wide, toothy thing that makes her feel a little ridiculous. Sabrina leans down, presses an obnoxiously loud kiss to her cheek just to be a tease, and then climbs off of her. And Triss has some objections.

“Where are you going?” She’s pretty sure Sabrina  _ just  _ said she wanted to continue this, so she doesn’t feel silly having some questions. Like, a lot of them.

“I know you’re not going to enjoy this properly if you’re worried about the overgrown child you’ve adopted. So, I’m making sure the idiots are occupied for the next...Three hours or so?”

Three hours.  _ Three hours?  _ Oh, dear gods. “Great. Do you want help?” This is fucking surreal. She’s in bed with a movie star, in the kind of hotel she usually scoffs at for being far too pretentious and expensive for literally anyone, and she’s wearing lingerie under her office clothes. Oh, and she’s impersonating her best friend on the internet while being ravished by her friend’s best frenemy. What the hell is her life, and how can she make sure it never goes back to normal?

“I think I’ve got it. They’re wondering why they haven’t gotten the usual level of selfie bombardment, that’s all.” She pulls the thankfully undamaged computer into her lap, leaning against the headboard to scroll through the insanity that is Yennefer’s twitter. She looks utterly unperturbed.

Triss is not nearly as calm. “What are you saying? Because I don’t think we can fake any, I don’t just carry around spares, and in case you haven’t noticed, she’s not exactly here. Thankfully.”

Sabrina turns to face her again, and Triss gets a bit lost in the way her lipstick is smeared at the corner of her mouth. She did that. She might get to do that again, the second they’re done handling this. Holy crap.

“It’s fine, I just told them there aren’t any photos because it’s a secret where she is.”

Triss’s sense of giddiness pops like a balloon. “That’s...The truth, Sabrina.”

“...Yes. It is.” 

“So, now people are probably going to wonder where she is. Which we don’t want?” Because she’s currently at Tissaia’s house? This whole arrangement was to prevent anyone from finding out? 

“Oh no. Triss, I’m blonde but I’m not an idiot.”

“Of course not!” And if anyone has said that, she will fight them! Well, probably not fight them, but perhaps send a very strongly worded letter encouraging them to examine their life choices and perhaps avoid being a rude and inaccurate dolt in the future.

“There. You can smile again, I fixed it.” She shuts the laptop and shoots Triss a conspiratorial look, moving to straddle her hips like everything is totally normal. And she wants it to be. Triss really wants to forget her job and focus on the way Sabrina is grinding her hips against her, the way her eyelids are half shut as she gets into it. But no, she is a responsible adult, and even though it’s probably going to be the worst decision ever, she has to ask.

“How did you fix it?”

“Has anyone ever mentioned you’re a workaholic, and too nice for your own good?” Yes. It’s come up, once or twice. Twenty times at max. “I just said she was somewhere in DC and she might be trespassing. Don’t worry about it. They’ll probably think she’s back at Calanthe’s.”

Right. That probably wasn’t  _ good,  _ but it was good  _ enough _ , and Triss is tired of acting in everyone else’s best interest. “Great. You fixed it. Kiss me?”

  
  
  


Rita wakes up to the sound of someone typing furiously. This is hardly a new sensation. Philippa sometimes works in bed when she wakes up before Rita, which is often, and Renfri seems to have similar tendencies.

What’s new is the bickering. 

“Fuck’s sake. You can’t wait two hours to publish this thing?”

“If you take two hours to sell any holdings you might have in Tuirseach cruise lines, that’s your own fault.”

“I already did that. This is for...Something else?”

“Willing to admit what it is on the record?” 

“No. Now get off me.”

Okay then. That’s quite new. Not unwelcome though. She cracks her eyes open, trying to ignore her sheer distaste for daylight before one pm, to see Philippa wearing a shirt that is certainly not hers and doing something or other on her cell phone. Renfri is sprawled out like a panther on the forest floor, her head on Philippa’s thigh, hands flapping about in an attempt to snatch her phone. She can tell it’s in jest because Renfri has freakishly fast reflexes and those hands are magic. If she really wanted that thing, she’d already have taken it. What she wants is attention. And if Phil is going to be boring and productive, she can fill the void!

“G’morning. What’s going on?” 

“Good morning, dear. Your new monster is being a pain and refusing to delay her latest round of character assassination.” 

“No, your old one is being a bitch and refusing to tell me what mysterious thing she’s working on. It’s rude. And it’s not character assassination if it’s true.” Philippa rolls her eyes and attempts to regain sole custody of her leg, but Renfri is apparently very comfy and is refusing to get up. It’s kind of hysterical, and she’d watch them try to out-top each other all day, but now she’s legitimately curious.

“Who are we assassinating?” As long as it’s not Tissaia she’s happy to watch the murder with popcorn. But since Phil is present, she feels like she should probably just make sure.

“I believe Renfri’s headline reads ‘Senator Tuirseach Throws Second Surprise Rally In Pajamas, Loses Her Shit At Crowd.’ Feels a bit long, though it’s entirely accurate. The photos of her husband trying and failing to restrain her are quite amusing.” 

Okay then! She’s all for embarrassing Calanthe. That’s fine. Hell, Tissaia may even like that, and she’s already going to be happy after hopefully having Yennefer fuck her senseless, so overall it’ll just be a good day. Yay!

“She didn’t, like, shoot anyone though. Right?” Rita will have to reconsider her not at all hidden lust for the woman if she’s  _ that  _ unstable. Not that anything would ever happen, and she’s actually pretty happy with her current relationship situation, but still. Cheat cards exist.

“I believe the only casualties were a box of viagra and her dignity.”

“Don’t write her off yet. She may hate Yennefer’s fan club more than me.” 

Yeah. Rita would probably disagree with that. Yennefer’s fan club isn’t nearly as good at ruining people’s careers. Confident that nothing is about to go horribly wrong, just comically wrong, she decides to escape the mass of blankets she’s trapped in and go after what she actually cares about this fine morning, which is attention. She figures with two people in her bed, the odds on that are good. Even if they’re both workaholics, they both suck at ignoring naked women. And what do you know? Rita happens to be exactly that!

Sure enough, it takes about half a second for Philippa to finish texting whoever her latest coconspirator is. “Well then. Up you get to write your article, dear, we wouldn’t want to distract you.” 

“Fuck that. I just discovered it can wait.” Renfri seems a bit cranky after last night’s shrubbery diving, which was fun to experience then and is just so fucking funny now. The two of them end up staring at each other in what might be some sort of standoff or weird telepathy thing because they break eye contact at exactly the same time and then they’re both staring at her in a way she rather likes. 

“You don’t have work today, do you darling?” Philippa holds Rita’s child, her angel, her cell phone, examining the several calendar alerts on the screen. Right. Work.

“Not if I cancel Tissaia’s schedule. She’d probably thank me, and so would-” Whoops! There’s a reporter in the room, she probably can’t talk about The Yennefer Situation yet. Or ever. She’s not sure if Tissaia has cracked and admitted they’re dating yet.

“So would who?” The aforementioned reporter looks a bit intrigued. And that is very dangerous, so Rita goes through the process of calling both herself and Tissaia in sick as quickly as possible because answering Renfri while distracted tends to lead to bad things in the best way possible, but probably just bad things in this scenario.

“No one?”

They’re doing the thing again, which Rita is starting to realize means they might be working together, and that is a whole new level of “oh fuck.” Playing them against each other was fun, but she may legitimately not survive both of them getting along. What a way to go, though!

“Rita. Last chance. I sense a scandal, and you can hand over whatever is in that pretty head of yours now or later, but either way, you’ll give me what I want.” She will admit that she has a bit of a track record of giving in, yes. But it’ll be different this time. Maybe. Even though historically, that look on Renfri’s disturbingly innocent face means trouble.

“Well, if she doesn’t have work, there’s no reason we can’t tie her down and keep her in this bed until she’s willing to explain whatever bizarre drama Tissaia has gotten herself into now. I have to meet with her next week, and anything to make the whole experience less dull would be appreciated.”

“Can’t believe I’m agreeing with you, but yeah. Sounds like a plan.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Like, this sounds incredibly fun, but also probably morally bad? Is there a manual on what to do if your two not-girlfriends decide to interrogate you about your best friend’s personal life?

“Give me your phone back and put your hands above your head. You won’t be needing either.”

She considers saying no. Really, she does. But while her brain is working overtime trying to find any reason that could justify a friendship betrayal of rather large proportions, Renfri has plucked her phone from her grasping fingers, and then she’s on her back with the other woman on top of her, sharp teeth sinking into her neck. She almost doesn’t notice when Philippa reappears until she tugs her wrists towards the headboard, and by then resistance is futile. The coil of rope loops around her wrist and up her arms to create an immovable sleeve, and the smirk on Philippa’s face states that she’s fucked just as clearly as any words might have. 

“Isn’t she so pretty like this?” She didn’t notice that Philippa had grabbed anything other than the rope. But soon she’s sitting next to her on the bed, trailing cool fingers over her jaw almost mockingly before unveiling the blindfold in her other hand. Which is just mean. She likes being able to see them, damn it!

“If you try to bitch about this, I’m sure Phil can find a gag or something in her bag. And then we’ll just have to keep going for longer because you won’t be able to tell us anything!” Renfri seems downright pleased with this option, and truth be told Rita isn’t exactly opposed. The problems she’d had with this entire arrangement are very rapidly disappearing along with her ability to move or see, which probably says something about her priorities.

Well. She tried. Sorry in advance, Tissaia!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Yennefer wakes up with Tissaia still passed the fuck out on top of her. Her hair is tickling Yennefer’s neck, and she’s kind of starving, but who cares about that shit when your crush is naked and sleeping on you and generally being adorable? Getting up can wait.

Tissaia is very pretty when she’s asleep. She doesn’t look nearly so stressed. In fact, there’s a small smile on her face, and the usual crease between her eyebrows is flat. It’s peaceful, and the skin of her back is warm and soft under Yennefer’s fingers. She doesn’t want to wake her up, even though she’d really love more sex or just a kiss good morning, so instead, she snags her barely-alive cell phone from Tissaia’s bedside table and decides to amuse herself with whatever shenanigans Triss and Sabrina have gotten up to on her behalf, though some part of her hopes they’re also getting their shit together, somehow. Even though that would involve Sabrina having a heart and a conscience, both of which the bitch who may become her sister in law is unlikely to develop. Shit. When did she accept the fact that Triss was going to marry a she-demon, and how does she undo it?

She very quickly decides, as she sees the hundredth post involving Calanthe Tuirseach in slippers and waving around what looks like it might be an actual sword, to change her twitter password and never ask Sabrina for help again. Because there is no way sweet, overly-helpful Triss decided to summon a small mob of very impressionable, very enthusiastic people to join her in trespassing on private property. She notices that Sabrina was kind enough not to specify  _ which  _ property Yennefer is trespassing on, leading to a merry group of meet-ups all over the DC area. Apparently, congress would like the group that thought she’d be visiting Tissaia’s workplace to peacefully disperse and stop chanting. She won’t even fucking ask what that means. She’s sure someone will yell at her about it soon enough because inciting a mob is generally frowned upon, especially if that mob has decided to storm a government building for an unknown purpose.

In order to make sure that no one gets arrested, or considering the Calanthe Group possibly impaled, she announces that she’s going to be making a totally legal appearance somewhere downtown for brunch and that people ought to come to find her there. It’ll probably promote local businesses or something. And in the meantime, she can stay right here and see how long it takes for Tissaia to open those ice-blue eyes and realize her hand has found its way somewhere Yennefer very much enjoys having it, but she will likely freak out about and apologize for. There is, of course, no need for that. Yennefer knows she has very nice breasts, and seeing as she and Tissaia are dating now, there’s no reason  _ not  _ to have her touching them all the time. Besides public decency, anyway, but fuck that. The rest of the public isn’t very decent either. 

She’s in the middle of giggling over the very viral video of Calanthe receiving her little Christmas gift when Tissaia starts to stir. She’s not trying to get up, which is fantastic, but her eyes definitely open for a fraction of a second before she decides, in her half-conscious state, that she’s extremely comfy where she is and won’t be leaving. Hooray!

“Good morning, gorgeous. Sleep well?”

Tissaia’s reply consists of a short hum that Yennefer thinks is meant to mean yes, throwing one leg over Yennefer’s waist to wriggle just a few centimeters closer. Which, yes, please. This is the best morning ever. Tissaia has some sort of secret cuddling addiction, she’s smiling, and she’s still naked. Hallelujah!

“What time is it?” Time for morning sex, hopefully?

“It’s early. You should go back to sleep.” If she can’t, Yennefer will happily keep her entertained, but there’s no point in trying to get off with someone who is too exhausted to enjoy it properly. And Tissaia is cute when she’s unconscious or conscious or at any time ever. So there.

“Can’t. I’ve got work-Oh fuck.” Tissaia seems very awake all of a sudden, propelling herself into a seated position and searching frantically for the phone Yennefer is pretty sure is still in her living room.

“You don’t have work. Or, well, you did, but Rita canceled it. She says you’re welcome. And also not to hate her too much ‘when you find out,’ because it wasn’t all her fault and you can ‘blame Phil.’ Whatever that means.” Thank the gods for Rita. She really was a lifesaver. Even if it was Yennefer’s love life she’s saving.

“...Fantastic. I’m going to kill her.”

“Or, you could let me try and probably fail to cook you breakfast, and then we can spend the morning cuddled up on your couch, which is a great idea because it’s fucking freezing in this house. Seriously, did you just forget to have a heating system installed?”

Tissaia rolls her eyes and mutters something about saving electricity, and then she hauls herself out of bed and Yennefer’s morning gets way better. There’s a bruise on her neck in the shape of Yennefer’s teeth, and her hair is messy but she’s so goddamned perfect as she throws on a robe and marches down the stairs just assuming Yennefer is going to follow her like a lost puppy. Which is exactly what she’s going to do. And then maybe she can say she needs to use Tissaia’s shower, but get her in it with her. Yes, this sounds like an excellent course of action, so that’s what they’re doing. It’s settled. And then maybe they can start planning the wedding!


	14. The End. And More Porn. And tweets.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut, a few relationship announcements, and they all lived happily ever after. Guys, it's been a journey. This was supposed to be a very silly 20K and now it's the longest thing I've ever written. A very special shoutout to those of you who've been leaving multiple comments, because y'all kept me motivated through a fucking quarantine. I love you.

Triss and Sabrina do not notice that they have been relieved of their official press management duties. This is because Triss is having what she would call a mild religious experience, and other people might call ogling a pretty woman. Sabrina had decided, in her infinite wisdom, that pulling her dress over her head and hurling it to parts unknown was a fantastic idea, and Triss has to agree because she’s fairly certain that Sabrina has to have escaped from a museum or something. That’s the only explanation of how she can look like this naked. That, or this is just a very vivid stress hallucination, in which case may she never wake up amen.

“Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to touch me? Both work, because it’s very nice to be appreciated, but you don’t need to keep your hands to yourself. Please don’t, actually.”

This is where Triss wishes she had the ability to be vaguely suave or at least to pretend she’s not sort of having a heart attack because when you watched this sort of thing in horrible lesbian movies, the girl in her position usually managed to  _ do something  _ instead of having several dozen thoughts regarding what she was and wasn’t allowed to do and what the hell Sabrina even wants from her. At no point does it occur to her to open her useless mouth and ask that, because the nerves are back with a vengeance, and this is why she isn’t a top. Help.

Divine intervention does not arrive, and so Triss decides in her blind panic to pull Sabrina back down on top of her because that was soothing and she liked it, and kiss her again because that means she can’t say anything horrible that will make Sabrina realize she could do much better. More kissing is excellent. And it’s a great way to stall for time until she figures out how this is supposed to go. 

Stalling is not the wisest thing to do, because Sabrina has the patience of a dog waiting for treats, and she’s reached the end of her rope. She tried her best to behave in the least intimidating or pushy manner possible, but Triss is just too adorable to resist and clearly struggling, so helping is probably the right thing to do. Maybe. And Sabrina will also benefit from it, so there’s that.

“Can I take this off? Like, all of it?” This is technically their third date if you include the party they happened to crash at the same time, so this is a reasonable timeline for a normal person. She thinks so, anyhow. She’s not sure what Triss’s rule for it being too soon to have sex with someone is, but she is the queen of pushing her luck, so she’s just going to go for it and see if it pans out.

“I-You know what? Fuck it.” That was not exactly the response Sabrina had been expecting. She is also not expecting the surprise she gets when Triss unbuttons her shirt, but holy shit. She is a connoisseur of attractive people, and her collection of hookups is alarmingly large, but somehow this is what causes her to malfunction. Because she genuinely likes Triss, as a person and not just a plaything, though there’s some of that too, and the idea of Triss deciding to dress up in lingerie for her makes her feel all sorts of strange ways. 

She ends up all but tearing her pants off because she wants to see the rest of it and also because Triss’s belt is sharp and sitting on her with it digging into her skin isn’t ideal. Triss looks mortified, which is unacceptable, because she gets that insecurity is part of human nature, truly she does, but a woman like this should not be unwilling to make eye contact when someone is undressing her. If she ever finds whoever made Triss Merigold so nervous about literally everything, she will shoot them, no questions asked.

“Did you bring this along for me?” She traces the line of Triss’s garters up to her stomach, pressing a soft kiss there while she waits for Triss’s brain to re-engage. Red is a good color on her, she thinks. Not what she would have expected, but that defines this entire relationship from the start and she’s certainly not complaining.

“I did. Do you like it?” How the fuck is that even a  _ question _ ? Did she like it? Oh, gee, did she like seeing the woman she’s been chasing for close to a month in lingerie in her bed? She’ll give Triss one guess to the answer. And then she remembers that oh, right, this is Triss, and that was a genuine question and not a very beautiful woman fishing for compliments. Though she can have as many of them as she wants anyway if it makes her stop hiding that pretty face in the pillows and let Sabrina get her mouth on every inch of her.

“You are a literal angel, and we’re dating now. Just so you’re aware.” It’s an impulse decision, saying that, but she’s positive it was the right one because Triss’s smile could light up an entire city and in this moment Sabrina would move mountains to see it again. She is definitely keeping this woman forever, and no one can do shit about it.

“You really don’t ask for anything, do you?” 

“Not for the really important things. Does it bother you?” Sabrina is going to bet the answer is a very firm “no,” because Triss is biting her poor lip like perhaps that will stop her from blurting out anything questionable, and she’s crossed one leg over the other in a very poor attempt at getting some friction between them, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Triss might like her more demanding side. It’s not something she expected out of this little encounter, but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t very appreciated. 

  
  


“Just touch me. Please. If that’s okay, I mean. Fuck.” If that’s okay. Here she is, naked on top of Triss, and it  _ not  _ being very okay appears to be an actual thought in her freakishly intelligent but very naive head. Oh, she is going to have some work in front of her corrupting the somewhat innocent. But first, the beautiful lady asked her to do something, and she’d have to be insane to deny her. 

Having to climb off of Triss is not ideal, because she does enjoy towering over her for once, but being able to push her thighs apart and settle between them to kiss her chest is well worth the sacrifice. As delectable as Triss looks in this bra, it needs to go, because Sabrina wants bare skin under her hands and she wants it now. This is easier said than done because Triss’s response to getting Sabrina’s mouth on her was to wrap her thighs around Sabrina’s waist like some sort of koala, pull her firmly against her, and refuse to move. This is, obviously, really fucking cute, but it does make getting her hands behind Triss’s back to undo her bra strap a herculean effort.

“Baby. Do you think you could perhaps let go for five seconds? I promise I’ll make it up to you.” 

“...Right. Of course, sorry about that-”

“-New rule. No more apologizing. Or I will have to punish you.” Sabrina, truth be told, has no idea whatsoever if Triss is into that sort of thing, but worst case scenario she pretends she was joking. She absolutely wasn’t, of course, and she will admit she now has all sorts of thoughts about getting Triss in handcuffs and seeing just how long she lasts before she’s willing to beg, but she didn’t bring that shit along on this little adventure because that’s probably not something to spring on Triss right exactly now. 

Right now, she is going to see exactly how sensitive Triss’s breasts are, and if she tastes as good as she looks. The second her tongue makes contact with a stiff nipple, Triss’s hips jerk off the bed and against Sabrina’s stomach. She grins, sucking firmly and slipping her leg between Triss’s thighs to keep her more or less still. It’s not going to work like that because the laws of physics dictate that Sabrina is not going to be able to prevent Triss from doing just about anything. However, she doesn’t really give a fuck, because Triss has started to roll her hips against her, and Sabrina can feel wetness against her skin, and the whimpering noises Triss makes as she starts grinding in earnest are music to her ears.

“Mmm...Sabrina, please more.” Oh, she can definitely do that. Nothing would make her happier.

“What, exactly, do you want me to do to you? Because I want to make you feel good, but you’re going to have to use your words.” If only because flustering Triss is her new favorite activity on this planet. 

“Touch me. I need it.”

Sabrina flattens her hands over Triss’s stomach, rubbing against her teasingly. “I thought I already was?” She knows she’s being a bit mean, but the scandalized expression on Triss’s sweet face when she realizes she’s going to have to actually say the words is just too good. Sabrina has exhausted her ability to behave herself, and this is the inevitable result. Not that Triss seems to mind if the rapidly-growing damp patch on her panties is any indication.

Triss sinks into the pillows with a defeated huff, threading one hand through her hair as if to emphasize how done she is with Sabrina’s shit. “Please just fuck me, Brina?” It’s less of a question and more outright whining, which would be annoying if she weren’t so smug about how easily she got Triss this wound up in the first place. That is just good for her already-massive ego.

“That’s my good girl. See? That wasn’t so difficult.” She’s already pushing Triss’s underwear down her thighs, and that’s probably what cuts off any attempt at a rebuttal or complaint. 

  
  


Triss is starting to think she should have taken Yennefer a bit more seriously when she’d told her she didn’t know what she was getting herself into. Because she’s thought about this with Sabrina, thought about it a lot and usually with a hand between her thighs, but she hadn’t quite realized Sabrina’s love for tormenting literally everyone she’s ever spoken to would extend to the bedroom. 

That was stupid. She really should have made that connection. But she hadn’t, and now she’s here, with Sabrina’s fingers inside of her and her teeth scraping over the skin of her breasts, and of course, it feels amazing but also, Sabrina has refused to go anywhere near her clit, and it’s not because she can’t find it because that was the very first place she’d bothered to touch. She just won’t do it again, because she is a horrible, horrible person who Triss wants to kiss all the time and buy plants with. 

However, that does not mean she’s just going to let Sabrina do whatever the hell she wants to her. Probably. Because she is possibly going to explode if Sabrina doesn’t stop being mean, and really she’s just getting quite impatient here. 

“I-fuck! Can just take care of this myself if-Oh gods right there! If you won’t. I mean that!” She is aware that the effectiveness of this totally serious threat is undermined by the fact that she can barely speak, but she is  _ trying,  _ damn it all!

“And you are welcome to try. If that’s really what you want.” It isn’t. They both know it isn’t, and Triss is berating herself for saying anything at all because clearly it was a horrible, terrible, beyond idiotic idea. 

“Please just make me come?” She’s really not sure what else there is to be said, at this point. Besides possibly “Are you always like this, because if so I need to update my will since there’s no way I will survive dating you, which is apparently a thing now.”

Instead of responding, Sabrina moves up to attack her mouth. Those wicked fingers find her clit, and Sabrina’s soft lips are the only thing muffling her scream. 

Sabrina knows that pulling this shit probably makes her a truly horrible person, but she can’t help it. She likes hearing Triss say dirty things, and she likes having her like this even more, dripping and desperate and writhing against her fingers. Her hands wind into Sabrina’s hair, and she’s pulling more than is appreciated as her fingers run circles over Triss’s clit, but she supposes she kind of deserves it.

She doesn’t bother with any more teasing, thrusting into Triss hard and fast, and her walls clamp down around her fingers as Sabrina slams into her so tightly she has to work to remove them. Triss’s hips buck against her, grinding against the thumb on her clit, and when she comes she almost collapses. The energy lent to her by sexual frustration and nerves evaporates in seconds, and when she smiles up at Sabrina as she pulls out of her, it’s the first time she can say Triss has seemed completely uninhibited. It’s a good look on her. Sabrina can’t be bothered to climb off of Triss, resting her head on the other woman’s heaving chest and staying there to enjoy the feeling of having Triss’s bare body against hers while she recovers. She can hear Triss’s heartbeat under her head, the way it slows from a feverish staccato beat to a steady thud, the way the tension in her shoulders fades away. She grins. This is exactly what she’d wanted, Triss calm and happy and  _ hers  _ and she realizes that’s appalling sappy, but Yennefer is planning a fucking wedding, so by comparison she’s doing  _ great. _

She’s also really fucking horny because getting Triss off was hot, but she can wait. Probably. For like five minutes, and then she may have to start taking care of this herself. Triss might appreciate the show, because she is a gay woman with eyes, and if by some miracle she doesn’t then she can just find a way to make her stop, preferably by replacing her fingers with something else. She’s open to other suggestions, but that sounds like a great starting point. 

“So. We’re dating now?” Triss’s voice is a bit lower than usual, but she can still detect a hint of an excited squeal towards the end. 

“We are. If you have complaints, you may take it up with my assistant.” And she will ignore them. They are dating. This is final. If Yennefer wants to say she’s going soft, she’ll have to climb out from between senator de Vries’s legs for long enough to do so. 

“No complaints. Promise. I want to date you. Just...Making sure, I guess.”

“Making sure of  _ what _ ? That something I said is indeed what I meant?” She wasn’t aware there was any room for confusion or misinterpretation in “By the way, we’re dating now.” But then again, Triss works with reporters all day. Maybe she’s just used to seeing double meanings in literally everything.

“That you’d want to date me? And not just this?” Okay. First of all, what the fuck. Second of all, how the  _ fuck  _ did Triss assume being asked on a date did not mean “I want to date you and also convince you to move into my far-too-large-house and fill it with ridiculous plants and baking”?

“Fine. I’ll prove it.” She reaches for her phone. This is a great idea, she thinks as she logs on to Twitter. Now everyone will know Triss is off-limits and leave her the hell alone.

“Babe. What are you doing?” Triss makes a valiant effort to get up, but her arms are still a bit too unsteady to support her, and it costs her the critical seconds needed to prevent Sabrina from hitting the post button.

“Announcing that we’re dating. Obviously. And we did it faster than Yennefer, so we win.” She has a feeling Triss has a “it’s not a competition” lecture waiting for her, so she decides that instead of talking she’d like another kiss, and then another, and maybe they can just never stop doing this. That sounds like a plan!

  
  


Yennefer is wearing Tissaia’s robe, and Tissaia herself is cuddled up next to her on the couch. She tastes like the blueberries in the pancakes she’d cooked after Yennefer managed to set the eggs on fire, and the house is freezing but Tissaia is so warm, and Yennefer thinks that she’s never been happier, like, ever. 

And then Tissaia’s phone rings, interrupting what Yennefer considers a very pleasant way to start her morning. Which should be illegal. How does she propose a law to Congress to ban ringtones?

“I’m so sorry, dear. I promise I’ll be back soon.” Her only solace is that Tissaia seems just as heartbroken about the interruption as she is, glaring at her phone like it’s done her a personal injury as she picks up and begins terrorizing the poor dolt on the other end. She has no idea who this Istredd character is, but she feels sorry for him because Tissaia seems very angry with him.

However, she has no idea what half the things Tissaia is saying even mean, so she tunes out the words and opens twitter. Tissaia is leaning against her shoulder and barking into the phone, and her voice is very sexy when she’s mad, so Yennefer is more than happy to let the sound but not the content wash over her while she admires the chaos created in her name today.

Or at least, she is until she sees that Sabrina has been tweeting as herself. About Triss. About  _ dating  _ Triss. 

Okay. She should be happy for them, right? That’s what friends do. They are happy when their friends fall in love, and not like weirdly bitter and paranoid that someone is going to get hurt. Maybe. 

So fine. She’s happy for them. Congratulations to Sabrina, for getting a girl who is in Yennefer’s somewhat biased opinion way too good for her. And sort-of congratulations to Triss, for at least getting some hopefully good sex out of the whole thing. Also condolences to Triss, who has acquired over twenty thousand new Instagram followers in five minutes. She hadn’t bothered to make her accounts private, because something about promoting her business, and now Yennefer can only watch in horror, knowing how Triss is likely to react to all the attention, as thousands of random citizens crawl out of the woodwork to scream about how cute she is with Sabrina, how she doesn’t deserve Sabrina, or how pretty she looks in her vacation photos.

Right. Well. Yennefer should call them. Probably. To send her well-wishes, and also to warn Triss to take several deep, calming breaths before opening her phone. And she is about to do that until Tissaia hangs up on whoever Istredd is. Unfortunately, Yennefer’s morals will never defeat her hormones in single combat, so her plan to be a good friend is replaced with the desire to have Tissaia’s tongue in her mouth again. 

She’s kissing Tissaia before the phone even leaves her ear. She can’t help it. She’s not even trying to get laid right now, she just likes feeling Tissaia on top of her, how gentle her hands are on Yennefer’s face. She is a badass bitch, but she likes feeling cared for, and Tissaia seems to have developed a human contact addiction so it’s all fine. They’re helping each other. And kissing. 

They are kissing for close to thirty minutes, and Tissaia is missing her shirt because Yennefer has decided Tissaia’s shirts are her new mortal enemy instead of Vilgefortz or Sabrina, and then the phone rings  _ again  _ because it is an  _ asshole  _ and fuck if it’s an inanimate object with no personality, she doesn’t care because  _ fuck off, Tissaia’s coworkers! _

It is not one of Tissaia’s coworkers. It is a number Tissaia clearly does not recognize, staring at the screen in confusion and annoyance, and she’s just moving to hang up when Yennefer metaphorically shoots herself in the foot. 

“Why is Triss calling you?” She recognizes that number. She has called that number every breakup, audition rejection, or bad day she’s ever had. So what is it doing on Tissaia’s screen? Triss is supposed to be getting laid with Sabrina and/or impersonating her online!

“Who is Triss?” Tissaia pauses over the end call button, a bit flummoxed. Her hair is a mess, and one of her bra straps hangs off her shoulder in a way that is practically begging Yennefer to pull it off, and generally, this is a very bad time for Tissaia to meet Yennefer’s friends.

“She was at your party. The one getting assaulted by a deranged blonde.”

Tissaia picks up the phone, and Yennefer has to wonder why, because nothing in that description would have indicated “this is a person you must speak to right exactly now.”

“Senator Tissaia de Vries. How may I help you?”

The voice on the other end is tinny and obscured by static, but Yennefer recognizes Triss’s “I’m panicking” voice and if Sabrina caused that, she is going to  _ die _ . “Hi. I’m Triss Merigold. You don’t know me, but, um, okay this is going to sound crazy but you ended up accidentally famous last month and I need to know how you survived it. Like now. Because I’m not supposed to be famous, Brina!”

That last bit is muffled, and likely not something they were supposed to hear at all. Okay. So Sabrina is probably not going to need to be slapped. Triss is still talking to her, anyway, and sounds more fondly exasperated than angry. She likes not-angry Triss.

There’s some shouting in the background of the call, and then a weary sigh. “Sabrina would like you to know that since we got together in under two hours, and it took you a month to even get a date, she wins. I do not know what that means, and I don’t want to. What I want to know is why people are commenting weird things about my ass on twitter and how to make them please stop!”

“Tell Triss to please tell Sabrina we got together last night, so actually we win.” 

Tissaia scoffs, looking at Yennefer like she’s lost her damn mind, which is not so different from how she looks at her normally. “Good afternoon, Ms. Merigold. Yennefer would like you to tell Ms. Glessivig that she beat her time by roughly twelve hours. Unfortunately, it would not appear the deranged lunatics on the internet get bored easily, and if you are looking for a way to return to being a normal person I don’t have it. Please do tell me if you find one, however.” 

“Crap. Okay, well, I feel your pain now and I’m really, really sorry I didn’t stop Yennefer from being herself, then.”

Hey! Being herself got her an insanely gorgeous girlfriend, thank you very much! 

“Don’t worry about it. She’s not so bad once you confiscate her cell phone.” Tissaia grins at her, a mischievous thing that disappears as quickly as it showed up and makes Yennefer wonder if she imagined it all in the first place as a side effect of being sickeningly enamored with this woman. Then she tosses her legs into Yennefer’s lap, lays back on the couch, and starts talking to Triss like she’s just decided they’re going to be friends. Which would be good! Tissaia needs more friends, according to Rita. And Yennefer, frankly. Friends are good for people so they don’t become antisocial hermits who live at the office! “I have found that the best way of handling this is to let someone else make a fool of themself and hope they provide a more interesting target. I suppose the best advice I can give is not to attempt to argue with republican politicians online. It seems to only inflame the lunacy.”

“Yeah. Um, speaking of Republican politicians. I’m also very sorry about that.”

Yennefer can hear the words “Stop  _ fucking  _ apologizing you gorgeous pushover,” followed by a brief scuffle. “Hey Tissaia, Tissaia’s asshole girlfriend. Senator Tuirseach thinks we have our shit together better than you do. So there.”

“Calanthe Tuirseach should not be talking about having her shit together. I am assuming I am speaking to Ms. Glessivig?” What Tissaia said! Calanthe shouldn’t be saying  _ shit  _ about them, because what if Tissaia  _ listens  _ and thinks she’s a mess and then  _ leaves _ ?

She opens her phone to see what she’s up against, and sure enough, Calanthe stuck her drunk-ass nose into Yennefer’s business by retweeting Sabrina’s little relationship status update and announcing that she and Triss were an excellent example of what happens when a movie star falls for a workaholic and they “have their shit together and don’t act like idiots for a month.” 

Okay. Yeah. Tissaia is probably not going to view this as a reason to break up with her, and she should calm the fuck down.

“Yeah, this is Sabrina. Thank you for your sacrifice in dating Yennefer so she shuts the fuck up about you. When can she move to DC permanently and stop annoying us?”

There’s another, much longer scuffle, and then an out of breath Triss is apologizing profusely and hanging up. Which is probably the best thing for everyone. 

“Well then. You have very interesting friends.”

“So do you! Rita is-Fuck.” Tissaia doesn’t know she knows Rita. Fuck. Change the subject! “So Calanthe is an asshole and she thinks that we’re idiots.”

Tissaia’s face shifts from suspicious to downright malevolent, and Yennefer gets the feeling that she should probably never piss this woman off because she’s kind of terrifying when she’s truly angry. Still very sexy, though.

“Give me your phone. And then I want to know how you met Rita. Is this what she meant about not killing her?”

“Maybe? I have no idea.” For Rita’s sake, she hopes so. And for Calanthe’s sake, she hopes the woman has a bomb shelter to hide in somewhere because dear lord Tissaia’s glare could give ice frostbite.

“Come here, dear. May as well show the world we do indeed have our shit together.” She’s shrugging her shirt back on, which sends Yennefer into a state of fucking mourning, but also she’s more than willing to go along with whatever this is because it involves spite and Tissaia cuddling with her, which are two of her favorite things.

The intention becomes clear as Tissaia opens her camera and takes a photo of the two of them, curled up in each other on her sofa, with her middle finger hoisted proudly in the air like a true patriot. Gee, she wonders who that could be directed at? Truly a mystery. It’s not like Tissaia, oh,  _ tagged  _ Calanthe in the thing just to be petty.

She then places her phone on the coffee table and calmly walks away. Which, fuck no?

“Where are you going?” She is whining. She does not care if she is whining, because this is the most horrendous thing to ever happen ever.

“To close the drapes. I predict that in ten minutes, the entire photojournalist population of the continent will be on my lawn, and I’d rather not give them a free show.”

Does this mean Yennefer gets a show? She hopes so!

“How do you feel about not being able to leave this house for the next day or so?”

“Great. Sounds like a plan. Does that mean you don’t have to wear clothes until tomorrow?”

“I suppose that would be feasible. Are you going to put your phone down now?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m done with twitter right now.”

She’d already sent what needed to be sent. It’s only appropriate, her starting and ending this weird little saga on that godforsaken app. Though now, she’s less drunk and way more taken, so she’s considering it a win.

Two little messages, one announcing to all the world that it took her two months to convince Tissaia to date her, and so dear Eist might need to expect that spring wedding after all. The other is directed towards Vilgefortz specifically but goes out to all of Tissaia’s wannabe suitors, and very simply says “Hey asshole? This is how you get the girl.” What else really needs to be said?

  
One other thing, apparently, as she notices that Tissaia has posted both her “fuck you” selfie and a terse command for the internet to leave Triss Merigold the hell alone  _ or else,  _ and so Yenenfer would guess that Triss will be calling her in an hour to gush about her new tiny guardian angel. But for now, it is a beautiful day to not go outside, and she has an even more beautiful woman to keep entertained. 


End file.
